


My Dearest Calenhad

by Chrys (Shaleene)



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Blackmail, Cawke, Cawkest, Dragon Age - Freeform, Dragon Age 2 - Freeform, F/M, Incest, Love, M/F, M/M, Mental rape, Non-Graphic Violence, Other, Sex, Sexual Violence, Whatever other tag I was suppose to put here but didn't, copious amounts of booze, m/m - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-06-12
Updated: 2017-02-24
Packaged: 2017-11-07 14:38:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 15
Words: 61,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/432238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shaleene/pseuds/Chrys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <b>
    <br/>
  </b>
  <br/>
  <i>In each legend and folktale there is a modicum of truth. How much truth varies from story to story. Varric wields words like a stone faced warrior wields steel. We as listeners and watchers are attracted by beauty, entranced by the heroism and skill. We easily forget that beneath the shining exterior lies a darker world full of pain and suffering. Festering wounds that never close and scars that never heal. Only when we look deeper do we sometimes learn how and why heroes are truly created.</i>
  <br/>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Home Abandoned

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _A/N Chapter 1 of this story I must warn you was heavily edited and re-worded by my good friend Bucklesinthesun at Deviant art. probably say she co-wrote this chapter lol. It is one of very few chapters in which I have outside editing done ((sans a chapter written by her for me later on which will be marked)) and probably the only one to such extent. So do NOT expect the pretty words to flow like they do in Chapter 1. The rest of the chapters are written and edited by me and I am a novice so fair warning._

Calenhad slipped silently out of the house and gently shut the door behind him. He could hear the sound of splintering wood and his brother's grunts as he chopped the winter's firewood. He sat down on the top stair hugging his legs to his chest and resting his chin on his knees. Winter it seemed, was creeping in early, but despite the cool temperature Carver was shirtless and sweating over his work. Calenhad watched silently, both admiring and envying his younger sibling. He loved watching Carver work around their farm and on rare occasions when he was allowed to follow along on one of Chanter Devon's jobs. His brother was smart, talented, willful, strong, tall, and could wield the biggest and heaviest swords he had ever laid eyes on. Calenhad was the complete opposite, he stood maybe shoulder height to Carver and was less then half his size. Not to mention he was the only one in the family that didn't have their trademark onyx hair and tawny colored eyes. Even his skin tone was a shade or two lighter then the rest of them. Thanks to his size, Cal had made a rather convincing elf the year before on Feastday. Bethany had even created a pair of pointed ears from beeswax which she later reused for candles.

Calenhad was also a big fan of tales and legends he often heard when he would visit the tavern and marketplace with his siblings. Stories of tall handsome men and women fighting legendary beasts and scouring the world for lost, mystical artifacts. Of course many of them were fabricated or twisted over the years, but that made them no less fascinating. As he watched his brother swing the axe over his head repeatedly, he wondered, not for the first time, what kind of tales they would tell about him. Would Carver become a hero or a champion? What kind of name would he leave behind, legendary warrior of the ages who saved the world from some vile monster? Maybe he would save King Cailan in an epic battle against maleficarum who summon a demon dragon from the fade to destroy Denerim. They would build statues in his honor, a hero of legend with his lovely, and insufferable wife Peaches beside him living in riches till the end of their days. Carver would die a grand old warrior high on a forgotten mountain battling a dragon. 

Ok, so maybe his mother was right. He did spend too much time fantasizing about silly things. But then what else was he to do during the day when he was hidden away like a dirty little secret.

Cal let out a silent sigh, turning his head and resting his cheek against his knee. He wondered why the heroes of stories were always alone in their moment of triumph. Did none of them have traveling companions who fought with them, friends or cousins or brothers? The Dwarves always had a shield brother beside them, but even their stories ended with the hero fighting alone. Calenhad sometimes dreamt about fighting alongside his brother, overcoming impossible odds together. In those thoughts there was no happy ending with the insufferable 'Peaches', no lone death on a mountain top; it was just Carver and Calenhad Hawke, side by side, always.

Or not.

Calenhad was nothing compared to Carver. His smaller frame wouldn't allow him to wield claymores and maces. He couldn't carry a heavy steel shield on either side because his arms grew tired so quickly. Wearing steel armor would block his subtle gifts, for his strength lay elsewhere. It was a strength he feared to use most days. Fear of the Templars finding him and his family, sure. But moreso it was fear of losing control over the elements that far outweighed anything else. Carver was the only one born without magic, but he wouldn't have been scared of the power at his command. Calenhad envied him for that self-assurance. Carver was everything Calenhad could never be; fearless, dashing and adventurous. That was why Carver was the head of the family even if Cal was the eldest sibling. He would have to be content with that and fade into the background as the unknown brother while that courser-faced tittering little twit of a farm girl stood beside what should be his.

Carver dropped his axe, the head burying itself in the ground beside the block. Cal heard it as much as felt the solid thunk through the slight tremor beneath him. A mundane wouldn't have noticed the earth shivering at being struck. Carver stretched the tight muscles in his back in a rippling wave of sinew and skin. Something huge and white flashed at the edge of Calenhad's vision. He barely registered what it was before the mass was flying through the air. One hundred and ten pounds of muscle and fur collided with with Carver, sending both youth and dog tumbling to the ground with more than a few sputtered swears and happy barks.

“Okay, Maferath, you asked for it!” Carver yelled as he grabbed his mabari around the neck. He rolled, pinning his wiggling companion to the ground. The dog yipped and barked, slobbering and mouthing at the unprotected neck-- the cheek-- the arm. Maybe it would look like a fight to someone else, but Cal had seen this happen many times. Carver and Maferath had an understanding between themselves. It would no doubt end with scratches, bites, bruises and cracked skulls. If he were lucky and quiet, he might catch a glimpse of that rare crooked smile on Carver's lips before he was needed. It seemed only Maferath could coax such a smile from Carver these days. Calenhad didn't mind having to play physic once it was all over. It was one of the few times his brother truly did need his help, and he was more then willing to give it.

Calenhad let out a small chuckle before he could stop himself, causing Carver to notice his silent watcher at last. His brother pushed his dog away and scrambled to his feet, dusting himself off with little success as he went. If anything it made the filth worse as dirt mixed with his sweat. He ended up succeeding only in coating himself in a thin layer of mud. Carver could feel his brother's gaze on him as he walked back to the chopping block.

“Damn it Calenhad, stop staring at me like that! It creeps me out!” Carver suddenly snapped, turning an icy glare on his brother.

“I'm sorry Carver.”He replied in a small voice, his smooth cheeks turning a deep shade of crimson. Calenhad hurried back into the house and out of his brother's disapproving glare.

Carver watched as his brother made a hasty retreat before going back to chopping wood. A foul mood had descended like a wet cloak dropped on his shoulders. Maferath, knowing the fun had been ruined, took up his guardian position a safe distance away. He didn't know why, but over the past couple years his brother's gaze had made him rather uncomfortable. _Oh stop it you liar._ A voice much like Bethany's chimed in from the deep recesses of his mind. Or perhaps he did know why and just didn't want to admit it.

Carver's mind drifted away from those thoughts as he chopped. He began thinking of his sweetheart, Peaches. The two of them would sneak off together behind old man Parith's shed. She'd live up to her name in minutes, all bouncing peaches and sweet cream from head to toe. Hair the color of wheat, eyes the color of the sky on a clear day, lips as soft as silk; you'd have to guess she was some nobleman's bastard to be so fine. Of course, this close to Denerim that wasn't out of the question. He smiled as he thought of her on her knees in front of him again, how he would relish the feel of his hands in her hair and slippery mouth at his cock. He would tilt his head back, closing his eyes. In his mind, that was hair not the color of wheat, and that adoring gaze was not blue...

A shiver ran the length of his body.

Carver scowled at himself, pushing those thoughts as far from his mind as he could. Besides, he was chopping wood. It wouldn't do to lose a hand or a foot to a daydream. Maker knew if he couldn't work the family would freeze to death over the winter. Cal was useless for manual labor, winded and red-faced from swinging an axe or digging with a shovel. And Beth, well she was the type of woman more prone to housework than woodcutting. He worked for another couple hours, occasionally glancing back at the house to make sure his brother had not returned.

When his shoulders and back began to ache, he stopped. Stacking the freshly cut cords along the side of the house took less time than cutting, but his spine twinged with every load.

Carver was in the middle of grabbing another armload when the sound of hooves pounding made him glance in their direction. A single rider galloped along the dirt road to the farm, not turning off to go down to the old well-house for a dipper, but coming this way. He tensed, his eyes flashing quickly to the side to ensure his blade was still leaning against the house before turning fully towards this guest. The tension in his shoulders eased slightly as the figure drew nearer. It wasn't a Templar. Horse and rider came to a skidding halt a few feet away.

“Ser Traveyl.” He said with a forced smile and a slight bow of the head. “Can I help you?”

“Hail, Carver Hawke.” He replied in an all too-official tone. A slight nod of his own head in return did nothing to take the edge off his voice. “The king calls for one son or daughter from every family to join the army at Ostagar. I expect you or your brother will join?” He held out a rolled missive with one hand. It wasn't a weighty thing, like the parchment documents their mother had. It had been made of cheaper stuff and the ink smelled putrid, but the seals were there. Denerim. King Cailan himself.

“I will.” Carver assured, once he got a look at the pressed wax. There was no hesitation as he shifted the wood in his arms, wiping one sap covered hand against his trews before snatching the missive from the mans hand. If Traveyl noticed the foul mood he'd brought on, he didn't seem to care.

“Very well, the men will march tomorrow morning. I expect to see you there.” Traveyl said and spurred his horse onwards toward the next farm before Carver could say another word. 

Carver sighed. He dropped the wood he held into the nearest pile before popping the ribbon and unrolling the missive. There it was, bold as dog piss. His brief thrill of excitement died quickly, mother was going to have a fit. 

“You can't go.” A small voice said from behind the house. He turned and saw the almost child-like form of his brother round the corner into view.

“Damn it Calenhad, didn't I tell you to stop spying on me.” Carver growled as he rolled up the missive and shoved it into his waistband.

“I wasn't but I heard the horse. You can't go, who will take care of mother and Bethany?”

“Maker Calenhad, your the eldest! Act like it for once!” Carver said exasperated. Usually he found his older brother's innocence and naivete quite amusing and sometimes, even a little adorable. Other times he wanted to take his brother by the hair and poor a few gallon of guts down his throat.

Calenhad bit his lip but said nothing else as his gaze dropped to the ground. Carver rubbed his forehead in irritation and turned toward the house. “Stack the rest of this wood. I need to take care of some things.”

Carver had already turned to leave by the time Calenhad nodded. He watched as his brother walked with slumped shoulders and disappeared into the house. As he set to his task there were only a few precious moments of silence. Then came the inevitable angry shouts. He could hear Leandra's screaming and Bethany's crying from here. Calenhad was glad that he was largely ignored by his mother unless he displeased her. For his part he wouldn't have wept like Bethany, but gladly volunteered to go with Carver, perhaps he would have even snuck away to do so. It only made sense. He couldn't very well heal Carver's cracked skull or torn flesh at Ostagar by doing chores here.

~~~  
Concern, fear, wariness; the sound of his elder brother's footfalls approaching across the cobblestones caused all these as Carver hurried to shove the rest of his supplies into his rucksack. He never understood how his brother could make even his quiet steps mirror his thoughts and emotions. The redbirds, who cared nothing about cold it seemed, were singing irritatingly happy little tunes to greet the morning. As Calenhad drew closer, his emotions tangible enough for even a mundane to read, they fell silent in wary expectation.

“I am not going to argue this anymore, Cal. I already spent half the night arguing with Mother.” Carver spat as he shoved the last of his supplies into his rucksack and knotted the rawhide. In a more reasonable tone he added, “Our King calls so I must go.”

“Perhaps..." Green eyes glanced and dropped, then rose again to fix somewhere on the lower half of Carver's face as if somehow avoiding his younger brother's gaze was essential to this unusual display of courage. "Maybe I should go with you? You might be injured and I can't do you any good from here.” Calenhad's words were barely above a whisper as he rung his hands nervously. "I hear when there are no mages and you get a bad wound, the field physic saws off your limbs like they did Parith's arm. Please, let me go with you."

Carver looked at him but did not answer. He appreciated the fact Calenhad had not wept as Bethany did and simply offered this brief flash of courage, this offer of aid, but they both knew how absurd that line of thinking was. Calenhad was far too passive, too innocent, too kind. Not to mention he was an illegal apostate living outside the laws of the chantry and the Maker. Carver stood and hefted his gear onto his shoulder.

“Carver?”

“Be good, Maferath.” Carver interrupted, cutting off his brother's words. “You take care of them till I get back.” His mabari pressed into the firm pats Carver lavished on his head. The wise beast gave a reassuring bark and trotted over to Calenhad's side.

“Take care of my dog.” Carver commanded as he turned toward Lothering.

“Be careful Carver.” Calenhad called after him. Something in his voice made Carver's stomach flip as he rushed to join the grim parade of peasant men heading south along the highway toward Ostagar. More bodies to don the king's armor. There must've been so many casualties already if the standing army needed so many fresh men. It did not bode well, but he was committed. He did not look back.  
\--  
Calenhad watched as his brother disappeared down the highway. He continued to watch the empty road for a long time after, as if wishing hard enough would cause the entire company to turn around and come back like a dwarven automaton wound in reverse. It wasn't until he heard his younger sister's voice that he realized just how long he'd been standing there. The sun had risen a full handsbredth more in the sky and his skin had pinked in the chill. He turned his attention away from the highway.

“Come, brother. It's cold out here and you're shivering. Don't worry so much. He will be back. He is too great a warrior not to. Besides, he promised me.” Bethany said as she rested a hand on his shoulder.

“I hope you're right.” Calenhad said as he looked back at the cracked stones of the highway once more. After a moment he turned and followed Bethany back down the road and into the house. She was right. It was so cold. Winter had come early, far too early and both of them were almost positive it came with whatever was threatening the south.

...~`~

One week went by. Then another. A third passed and Teyrn Loghain marched through the village proclaiming defeat at Ostagar, and decreeing the Wardens traitorous enemies of Ferelden. Calenhad spent every free moment watching the highway, searching every face that passed through their village. Carver was neither among the hale or wounded. Sometimes Cal thought he'd spy him in a crowd of stragglers, but when they drew closer it was never the brother he waited for.

Dark rumors began to spread through tavern and marketplace, like ink in water, rippling outward and staining everything they touched. The Blight was moving toward Lothering from the south, bringing with it the killing snow and darkness. It took only a few days before the villagers began packing their wagons and abandoning their homes by the dozens. Some headed west to Redcliff, others north-east to Denerim.

Calenhad paid no mind to these things. He would never believe Carver dead until he saw a body. He could not believe until he felt it in his heart. Calenhad had known the instant his father died, he knew it would be the same with Carver. And so, every day he took Maferath and continued to watch the road from the South.

One day it had been Ash warriors who survived Ostagar, though their faithful mabari had perished. They had been kind to Maferath, as they would be to no other creature but could not give Calenhad the news he sought.

The next day it was hoards of wild animals, skirting the town, driven before the Blight like wind before a storm. They carried only the nameless terrors of animals, their simple emotions like confusing bright sparks. That evening, before Calenhad finally returned home a few soldiers passed. They had not been wounded badly but their tidings were grim and unhelpful. He thought they were the bandits that had been harrying up and down the road by the way they eyed him and the dog. The Templars had chased them off several times, but here they were, back again.

`The day after that, Calenhad met the last of Ferelden's Grey Wardens. They did not seem to be vandals or murderers, as the General had suggested. The three were unlike anything he'd seen before, a chasind witch, a Templar and a Circle Mage. Maker did the first two argue-- but the Templar never took the woman to the Chantry to turn her in. Honestly, Cal would have never guessed she was a witch until she threatened to turn the Templar into a frog, and he took it very seriously. He could see the spire of the Chantry from the road, and still nothing. She and her threats were allowed to sass all they pleased. It... was nice. They even had a playful mabari who rolled about with Maferath as happy as dogs are wont to do. Any other time and Calenhad would have felt admiration for them all, for their bravery and the hope they gave him. But legends and his sad plight as an apostate didn't occupy his heart to bursting. He only thought of Carver. The senior Warden was nose to nose with Cal, an elf in most delicate face paint, and a silky robe. The Circle Mage, of all people, who was polite enough to speak with even if Cal found him a little odd. He apologized, in his way, but assured there would be no more from Ostagar. The Darkspawn had come. There was little Calenhad could do but shrug and give a forced smile in thanks.  
\---

Calenhad kept his vigil faithfully, despite the fact the Warden's words rang true. Nothing had come from Ostagar since. Mother had begun to lose hope, lamenting about how it should have been Calenhad to go, not her good son, not her Carver. This had set Beth to bawling over Carver's return and soon they were both trying to convince Cal it was time to flee the village. Each day they asked. Each day he refused, telling them he would not leave without his brother. His Mother's loathing for him was plain and Bethany rarely went against her. Calenhad wondered why they didn't just leave him behind with Maferath and evacuate. It wasn't as if he could stop them.

Perhaps it was the dog. The mabari was a status symbol among the Ferelden Nobles. Maferath wouldn't leave Calenhad so Mother wouldn't abandon him. It would be like her. She was always fretting about appearance and prestige.

Just over a month had passed since Carver had marched to Ostagar, and Calenhad still waited every day. His skin, once almost fair, had gotten tanned and wind-roughened by all this time outside. His legs had grown stronger for the pacing. His body even filled out a bit as well from constant play with the dog. There wasn't much else left to do in Lothering, it had become almost as barren as the wastes past the Kocari wilds were said to be.

Three hours till sunset. The chill had already settled into Cal's bones as he paced back and forth.

“Young Master Hawke, there will be no more from the South. The Grey Wardens were the last.” A warm concerned voice said from behind him.

“I don't believe it. I can't.” He replied softly unable to look at the Templar.

“Calenhad, see reason! Think of your Mother and Bethany. I've seen your sister often in the Chantry and every day she grows more pale and more worried. Does she deserve death because you refuse to accept the truth? Carver is dead. Lothering is lost. You must think of the family you have left, gather up what you must and leave. This will be the last wagon out of town. My Brothers and I will guard it as best we can against the darkspawn, I swear it. There's no need to be afraid. Come with us.”

Calenhad turned. “Thank you, Ser Bryant. You've never been anything but kind to us all, but my brother will be back any day now. We... I will not abandon him. I swore to him I would be here when he came back. I'll never break my word.” He gestured down the road toward the farm house he shared with his family. "If Mother or Bethany wish to leave with you, please take them and keep them safe."

“Your brother was at Ostagar. He's not coming back, young Hawke. Flee while you can. Your magic will not protect you from the Darkspawn for very long.” At Calenhad's flinch, he continued. "Aye. I've known about you and your sister for a long time. There's no reason to fear me. You're righteous and bother no one. Aside that, who's left to tell? The world of late is filled with madmen and piles of dead friends."

Calenhad stood staring blankly at the Templar for a long time. “Come with us, Calenhad.”

He was sure the smile he forced across his lips looked more like the rictus grin of a skull. “I thank you for your concern, Ser. I WILL go to Denerim. When my brother returns.”

“Very well. If I truly cannot sway you, I will pray that I see you all again. Maker watch over you, Calenhad Hawke.”

“Maker watch over us all, Ser Templar.” He replied and watched as the rare Templar turned, donned his helm and marched toward the house. A short time later he came back without Mother or Bethany. Bryant took his place at the back of the Caravan. He looked over his shoulder one last time before their slow march onto the old Imperial highway made them disappear from sight.

With a soft sigh that became a cloud of frozen mist, Calenhad turned and walked down the road. He passed through the quiet village. He didn't like the silence. It was the silence of a grave; a quiet expectant silence that only required corpses to fill it. Save for the rats and a couple stay dogs, the place was deserted and ripe for the approaching darkness to give it those corpses. Frost covered everything in deceptively cheery sparkles. They might have even been pretty had the sun been shining. As it stood, a light snow had begun to fall from the brooding clouds. His mind wandered, as always, towards his brother and he glanced towards Ostagar for what seemed like the hundredth time that day.  
 _  
“Calenhad, I know you promised me you would be here when I came back, but if what I hear is true, you may not have that option. If I... if that time comes, you will take mother and Bethany and go to Denerim.”_

_“But..”_

_“Damn it Cal, listen to me!“ Carver snapped, his golden eyes blazing for a brief moment before calming himself. Calenhad knew he wasn't saying this merely to be cruel. The tension in his brother was like a bear-trap with a hair-trigger spring. “Calenhad, if I am... delayed... you must protect mother and Bethany. Take them north-east to Denerim and I will find you if I can. Do you understand me?”_

_Calenhad smiled then. He knew what Carver wanted him to say. There was also no way he could make such a promise. His brother needed words, though. He needed to have that tension released, needed his focus restored. All Calenhad could do was give him honesty and hope that Carver understood. “I swear to you, brother. I will protect mother and Bethany from the Darkspawn.”_

_Carver nodded, not realizing the omission. “Go to bed. Goodnight, Cal.” Calenhad nodded, hugging him on impulse. Carver was still like death, hardly even daring to breathe. It was always this way when Calenhad touched him, this instinctive revulsion, as if he knew each string in the secret winding of Calenhad's heart and they were poisonous to him. He stepped away from Carver and faded into the darkened house like a shadow, wrapped in the shroud of his own hurt._

“We should have gone with them.” Bethany's voice interrupted his thoughts. "If half of what Ser Bryant told Mother is true, we should have left with the wagons." He turned and watched as his sister rounded a corner, she'd been spying again, and matched his pace. Snow flurries clung to her dark hair like tiny diamonds. For a moment, she could have been a fine lady in a jeweled hairnet, but it passed as they started to melt.

“We've seen a lot of survivors. Carver is at least as strong as those Ash Warriors. He survived too. He will come back to us.” His heart told him so. It was a quiet certainty, one that was impossible to communicate properly. Carver was alive. He was getting closer. It was simply something he knew.

“Do you truly believe that, Calenhad?”

“Don't you?” He tried to keep his look from being incredulous, but Maker it was hard. Bethany's arched brow made him sure he'd failed.

“I want to but no one has returned from the South since the Wardens. That was almost a week ago. Think about it. If Carver survived, why hasn't he come back yet? What if the Darkspawn get here first?”

Calenhad didn't have an answer. He did the only thing he could think of, he wrapped his arm as best he could around his sister's shoulders. Bethany had to walk slightly hunched, as she was a couple inches taller, but she had no complaints as they strolled home in silence.

There was some comfort in her presence. Alone like this in the glittering empty town, he could almost pretend it was one of their Fade-games. Almost. He longed for sleep and the Fade. Their great dramas would take his mind off of all the problems that waited for him in the waking world.

And when he woke, perhaps Carver would be home. He seemed so close now, Cal merely had to close his eyes and stretch out his hand and it seemed as if his brother would be there just beyond the tips of his fingers.

..~~

His lungs burned as he ran, dodging bushes and roots hoping his feet wouldn't find some unseen undergrowth or half-buried stone. Bitter cold clawed at his exposed skin. His breath misted, turning almost to frost. He was lucky enough to have a full moon to help him navigate through the trees, but the shadows were still deep and his mind was set on a destination just beyond the woods. He was racing against death. 

The finish line was the Hawke cottage in Lothering, just up the hill. Had Carver paid closer attention he would have realized the mistake he made that night before he left, the night he tried to force Calenhad to break a promise and forge another. His fool of a brother never broke his word once he had given it. Carver had to give him credit for his guile. He'd realized only too late what his elder brother had actually agreed to. 

Death was not an option for Carver as he burst through the treeline in a shower of crumbling ice. His heart hammered like a war-drum as he charged through the streets of Lothering toward the only light at the other side of town. His feet slid on the ice, but still he plowed on. It crackled and split, against the empty houses his footfalls sounded like the fizzle of lightning pacing itself through the darkness.

A small candle burned brightly, set in the window to guide his way home. Cal's work. It had to be. This whole bloody mess would be him. Carver ran towards that winking golden glow, blind to all else, and slammed shoulder first into the door. The bolt had not been slid into place as he had expected. He stumbled stupidly over the threshold, barely regaining his balance before he could spill face first into the floor.

Calenhad was ripped violently out of the Fade by the impact. He sprang from his chair with a rather embarrassing shriek as he pressed his back against the wall. His hands began to glow a deep icy blue as his wide eyes focused on the man before him. _Not a Darkspawn, Cal, give it a rest._ As Carver straightened up Calenhad's face went from terror to joy in a split-second. The magic at his fingertips vanished, forgotten. Maferath barked hysterically around their feet, yipping and leaping in welcome.

“Carver.... Carver your alive!” It wasn't surprise that made him cry so, but a quiet reverence. Somehow those words were all Carver needed to hear. Everything had to be alright now. It had to. They just had to be fast. They had to get out. Now. He spared Maferath a rub between the ears and the dog calmed instantly.

Calenhad was quivering, barely able to stop himself from bolting forward and throwing his arms around his brother's neck. Carver could see it as plainly as if the words were written on his face. He was just waiting for a whisper, a sign. Anything. His green eyes glittered with unshed tears. Carver couldn't even allow him what he had his mabari.

“Get your staff. We're leaving.” Carver grumbled as he rubbed his shoulder, making his way to the back of the house. His mother and sister were sharing a room before he left, they should still be.

"MOTHER! BETH!"

Cal sputtered, “Carver, what....”

“NOW CALENHAD! Maker's breath, do you want us all to die?” Carver roared at his brother, sending the smaller man scurrying and stumbling to collect his gear and dress.

Carver burst into the room only to have his twin throw herself against him in a tight hug. She squealed in his ear like a little girl, bouncing against him in a manner he would have found amusing any other time but now. It reminded him of when they were children and she demanded to 'fly', looping her arms around his neck and commanding him to spin in a circle as fast as he could. Behind her, Carver could hear the quiet sobs of his Mother's relief.

“Bethany, later. We need to go. The Horde is, at best, a half an hour behind me. At worst, less. You and Mother get dressed. We're leaving.” He pried his sister off his neck with firm hands. This was no time for coddling.

“Carver but ...”

“Bethany, please. Do not second-guess me.” He said in a much milder tone then he had used with his brother and turned leaving the women alone to prepare. 

Carver snatched up the rucksacks in the corner of the kitchen and began filling them swiftly with supplies, poultices, bandages, anything worth coin. Whatever they would need for the road. Once the sacks were full, he shoved the supper table aside and ripped the loose floorboards up. There lay a small box filled with emergency funds and a few small gems worth a few coins each. It was his father's idea, adding a little bit to the box now and again over the years. He had once thought it pointless, but now he was glad for it. A rucksack slung over his shoulder and money in his belt pouch, he exited the house, dragging gear for his siblings. He turned toward the south road watching and listening, luckily it was silent. For now.

That was a mixed blessing. Darkspawn made a lot of noise so you could hear them coming. Then again, you could hear them coming. If there were no escape, it made the wait so much worse to hear them as they steadily drew nearer and nearer. A feeling of dread crept up his spine.

Bethany and his Mother were the first out of the house followed by Maferath. In his mouth he held what looked like a small sack. Calenhad exited a moment later, dressed in their father's old over-sized Circle robes. He was carrying both staves he had hidden in the floor of his own room, one of which he gave to his younger sister without a word. Carver passed each sibling a sack and bade them follow him. In fearful silence the Hawke family made their way east out of Lothering and onto the old Imperial Highway.


	2. The Enemy of my Enemy

“Where are we going?” Bethany's voice was no more then a tired whine as she shuffled along, leather shoes kicking up a cloud of dust with each step. 

“To Denerim.” Carver said in a distracted tone.

“We can't go to Denerim, there are far too many Templars there. We would be caught on the first day.”

“Do you have a better idea, sister mine? I am all ears.” 

“Redcliff, Highever, Dragon's Reach, Orzammar....” She said as she checked off each destination on her fingers one by one.

Carver let out a tired chuckle at this. It was a warm and welcoming sound, one that easily cut through the quiet tension that had been building around them all morning. “Orzammar? Good luck with that Bethy, you want to live the rest of your days under a mountain be my guest. I am going to Denerim where I can at least still feel the sun and wind.”

“Then let's go to Highever! The Couslands have always been good lords, they even treat their elves well.” She continued as she swung her staff lazily, clipping a small rock and sending it skipping off the road into the underbrush.

“Highever is in turmoil right now, it is not a choice. Don't worry so much about it Bethy.” He said throwing an arm around her shoulders and hugging her tightly against his side. “We are going to Denerim and everything will be wonderful. I am sure Ser Bryant will be there.” He teased, a small smirk crossing his lips.

“That is not funny!” Bethany said as she elbowed her brother a little too hard in the ribs.

“Ouch! Hey watch it, you beat me up who will save you from the big bad Templars.” He grinned rubbing his side.

“Please, I can take care of myself.” She scoffed as she swung her staff again as if emphasizing the fact, sending another rock skittering across the road.

“Oh yes, a mighty warrior you are. All Templars tremble in fear as the mighty rock slayer Bethany Myra Hawke makes her way across the lands!”

“smart ass.” Bethany giggled and elbowed him again, this time softer. She sighed as she leaned heavily against her twin's side forcing him to all but carry her along the road. 

The four of them walked together in silence, Carver and Bethany sharing a silent conversation of bumps and nudges. It was one of those strange, mysterious conversation only twins could ever have and understand. Cal and Leandra followed walking quietly side by side watching them. It was a rare moment for the Hawke family, a peaceful silence between them where no one was yelling or pointing fingers. Malcolm had always been the bond that kept them together, since his death that bond had weakened. There were now too few moments when children and mother could occupy the same space without it ending in one argument or another. It was nice, if only temporary. 

“Carver?” Cal suddenly said in a voice barely above a whisper.  
“Gwaren, the Western Barony?” Bethany began once again nearly overlapping Calenhad. Whether it was a coincidence she spoke at that moment, or some subconscious form of spite toward her elder brother was unknown. Perhaps even she couldn't say one way or another.

Carver laughed again and smiled glancing sideways at his sister. “You just won't let it go will you? We are going to Denerim and it will be fine, I promise. There will be so many people there we can easily get lost in the crowd until I can come up with something better.” He said and tightened his arm around her shoulders.

“Carver?”

“If you say so, I will trust you brother. But I still think it is a mistake. Ser Bryant knows about us, Cal and I, and I know he went to Denerim. What if he recognizes us?”

“Carv?” Calenhad quickened his step slightly.

“We will have to take out chances. How did he find out anyway?”

“Apparently he's known for awhile.”

“Then we will be fine, if he hasn't turned us in yet there would be no point in doing so now.”

“Carver.” Calenhad said now walking beside Carver as his small fingers snaked around his free wrist and pulled gently, forcing his brother to finally take notice.

“Maker's sake! _**WHAT**_ Cal?!” Carver snapped, yanking his hand out of his brother's grasp. He turned an icy glare on the smaller man who visibly flinched away from his gaze. “What do you want Calenhad?” He asked in a softer tone.

“There is a Templar ahead.” He said apologetically, as if it were his fault the moment of calm that had finally descended was interrupted because of him. And perhaps it was, he was the one that was probing the veil, watching and searching, keeping his mind open for the very trouble that now lay ahead.

Carver's arm slid from his sister's shoulders and fell to his side, his body becoming tense and ready as Bethany stopped and closed her eyes in concentration. Calenhad dropped his gaze to the ground letting his hair fall to hide the slight blush that bloomed on his cheeks. He had never appreciated being second guessed by his younger sister, how she always had to double check everything he said or did. It annoyed him beyond measure. Sometimes he wanted to lash out, to yell at her, scream at her and tell her how much of a waste of time and mana it was. He was more then capable of focusing his will, to know what it was he found. He didn't need her looking over his shoulder all the time telling him what he already knew. He wanted to tell her to bugger off, stop treating him like a child who just found out how to make fire dance. To remind her how much more powerful he really was compared to her, compared even their late father.

He kept his gaze locked on the ground, his foot idly rolling a small rock back and forth as the words died in the back of his mind where they would never take shape, and never escape from his mouth. This was the way of things. Bethany would always treat him as an inferior mage, and he would always stand silently aside without the nerve to say or prove otherwise. 

“He's right.” Bethany said finally opening her eyes. “Good job Cal-Cal!” She said ruffling the man's hair like a child who just learned two plus two.

Calenhad cringed at the nickname and flinched away from her touch stepping just out of arms reach. “Thank you.” He mumbled softly, more out of habit then actual appreciation for the patronizing compliment and equally irritating pet name.

Carver sped his steps, taking lead and putting a small distance between him and his family. He kept his weapon sheathed, but his body was tense and ready. His hand reached up for the hilt of his blade as he opened his mouth to call out a greeting or a warning when a sudden shriek split the air. Carver ripped the sword from his back and turned toward the noise, he recognized the sound all too well. It was the sound of the darkspawn.

Strangers briefly forgotten the two new comers joined Carver and instinctively surrounded those without blades, creating a protective wall between them and the approaching beasts. It became quickly apparent all three were well versed in the art of battle, and were soon weaving back and forth between each other in a strange and awkward dance of blood and steel. Bethany sent waves of fire balls and chain lightning hurtling between them as Calenhad flung his small but effective winter's grasp.

The battle was sloppy, but effective, the smell of burning steel and rotting flesh filled the air as the creatures were quickly cut down. As the last hurlock crumpled in a heap to the ground, Carver spun around placing his body between his family and the Templar. At the same moment the Templar turned his blade toward the mages. Each man stared at the other, eyes blazing fiercely, blood stained blades only inches from each others throats.

“I've no quarrel with you boy, step aside now and I shall leave you with your life intact.” The Templar's voice was deep, demanding, and without room for negotiation.

“That is not going to happen, Templar. I suggest you turn around and go your way and let us go ours.” Carver replied, his own voice just as hard, just as demanding, just as immovable.

“You harbor maleficarum in your midst!” He bellowed shifting slightly, seeming to both protect his right side which he seemed to favor, and to make himself look more threatening. “The Order dictates. Justice will be done here, one way or another. STAND ASIDE!”

Carver's foot slid slightly forward as he too changed his stance. “You will have to kill me first.” He growled as both hands tightened around the hilt of his claymore.

“Give it up child.” A smooth deep feminine voice said from Carver's left as he felt the tip of a second smaller blade rest on his shoulder. 

His eyes flicked quickly in her direction before focusing back on the man before him. A silence fell on the three warriors, the tension building as they stared down their blades at one another, each ready to kill, or die for what they believed. And then a small squeak, something lodged between a killdeer and a dieing mouse, broke through the silence. Both the Templar and the woman's eyes shifted toward the noise, which would have given Carver a perfect opening to disarming the Templar, had there not been a second blade less then an inch from his throat.

There was another silence as the woman set her eyes on the small mage who was standing with both hands clamped firmly over his mouth. She raised an eyebrow, then let out a sudden burst of laughter causing her blade to shudder precariously beside Carver's flesh. “Wesley are you sure these are the ones you sensed earlier?” She asked turning her gaze toward the Templar. “This one looks as if he might piss himself at the sight of his own blood.”

The one called Wesley narrowed his eyes as his gaze fell on the small mage who was now half hiding behind his sister. He shuddered and let out a small hissing noise as he felt the intruding presence of the Templar's will reach out and caress his own. The look of horror that crossed the small man's face made Wesley snort in amusement as he shook his head. “No, but they are still apostates. Surrender quietly and I will let the Circle judge you.” Wesley turned his gaze back to Carver. “Or don't and you all die right here. Your choice.”

The woman lowered her sword, wiping the blade across her leg before carefully re-sheathing it on her hip. “This is not the time to cart apostates to the circle.”

“The order DICTATES.”

“Wesley.” She said with a soft sigh and she bent to retrieve the Templar's fallen shield. “They did help us and may have saved our lives. The maker will understand if we let them go.”

Wesley stood glaring through narrowed eyes for another minute before nodding and slowly stepping back. The Templar growled quietly as he lowered and sheathed his weapon, while Carver moved to stand beside his family.

“I am Aveline Valen, and this is my husband Wesley.” The woman said extending her hand, trying to further break the tension between the two groups.

“I am Carver.” Carver said taking the woman's hand and giving it a single, hard shake. “These are my siblings, Bethany and Calenhad and our Mother Leandra.” He nodded toward each person in turn. It had not been lost on the Valens that Carver carefully omitted their surname, nor did it surprise them.

“Calenhad?” The woman asked thoughtfully, as if tasting the name while it rolled across her tongue. “As in our good King Calenhad? Since when did his Majesty grow furry ears and a naked tail?” She snorted and then laughed as the mage shuffled further behind his sister. This caused everyone to laugh much harder then what was warranted, with the exception of Leandra who chose her standard reply. A rather disgusted grunt and a disappointed glare that had over the years, transformed a once lovely face into something resembling old, worn leather.

Calenhad blushed under a veil of chocolate brown hair, embarrassment blooming brightly on his cheeks. He was once again the butt of the joke, the reason everyone was sent into unreasonable gales of laughter. He didn't really mind though, not this time anyway. The laughter was much needed, breaking the strain between them before it became anymore volatile, giving them a common focus. For that he was willing to accept the laughter and teasing gracefully, well as gracefully as he could anyway.

When the laughter finally died down to a few snorts and giggles, Aveline cleared her throat. “Listen, I assume we are all heading toward Denerim. I suggest we put aside our differences and join forces. It would be safer if we traveled together, at least until the city walls.”

“You expect us to travel with a Templar? What then, once we hit the gates of Denerim?” Carver snorted crossing his arms across his chest.

“I expect you to travel with him, as much as I expect him to travel with them.” She said motioning toward the mages behind him. “Once the city is within sight we can decide where to go from there. But we really do not have much of a choice, do we.”

Carver sighed. “Fine, we travel together. But I will be watching you, Templar.” Carver growled.

“And I you, child.” Wesley growled back matching Carver's tone perfectly.

It was settled then, the two groups had an accord, at least until the city gates were in view. After that, fate would decide where they all stood and what would happen next. For now, despite their differences they walked together as one unified group.

Somewhere behind them a silent laughter hidden deep within the shadows watched, waited, and followed.

~~

The group set camp when the sun started sinking below the mountains. The nights had been getting progressively colder and none of them were truly prepared for the chill. Not to mention all of them seemed on the verge of collapse, three warriors who had been running for days without sleep, and three who were not built for such long marches. They dug two fire pits that evening and much to the Templar's chagrin Bethany, who seemed to have a knack for making fire burn hotter and longer then was natural, lit them both.

Calenhad had been watching Wesley for more then an hour, much to the man's annoyance as his twin siblings chatted and giggled around their own fire with their mother. He had noticed the way the Templar favored his right side as he sat moodily beside his fire. He could see the pain behind his eyes, and noticed each time he winced when his armor shifted on his shoulder just so. After a while Cal stood and quietly circled the fires.

Wesley heard the mage moving behind him, giving it little thought as he watched the flames flicker and dance. And then he felt a small hand press gently against the back of his shoulder, and the familiar warmth of magic course through his body.

“Don't touch me!” He snapped angrily as he shot from his seat and turned, locking a dark icy glare on the mage.

Calenhad gasped as his left hand clawed at his own chest, green eyes growing wide and fearful as he stumbled backwards. He lost his footing and fell hard on the moss covered ground as he felt the Templar's will pressing against his own, his mana being violently pulled from his body. He let out a breathless groan as the pain of being drained coursed through him, he was almost positive his body would cave in on itself at any moment to fill the sudden emptiness he felt.

“How dare you!” Bethany shrieked as she jumped to her feet grabbing her staff in one hand. Fire flew from her other hand's fingertips and spread quickly across her hand and up her arm. “He was only trying to help you!” She yelled as the flames quickly spread across the rest of her body, engulfing her completely in a small inferno. The display of anger was enough to break the concentration of the Templar, pulling his gaze just before he could render Cal unconscious.

“ NO BETHANY!” Carver yelled as he jumped up and raced toward his sister, reaching out and grabbing his twin's arm. The flames leapt from her arm to his hand pulling a pained growl to escape his lips as the fire began to climb up his wrist and forearm.

The sudden pressure on her arm an the sound of Carver's pain pulled her concentration and just as fast as they began, the flames disappeared but not before it did a fair amount of damage. Carver hissed as he released her arm, hi nose wrinkled at the smell of his own flesh burning as he rushed to his brother's side leaving Beth staring after him in both anger and disbelief. 

“I...I'm sorry I just wanted to …. help he … he's hurt.” Calenhad gasped, his voice barely above a whisper as tears filled his eyes and threatened to spill over his cheeks.

“Maker Calenhad, you should damn well know better. You know how stupid that was.” Carver scolded in a firm but soothing voice as he pulled his brother up using his uninjured hand. “Sometimes I wonder about you.” He said and shook his head as he led his brother away from the moody Templar and dumping him unceremoniously beside their own fire.

It was nearly two hours before Calenhad felt well enough and brave enough to wander over to where his brother sat trying to wrap his own injured arm. “You feeling better?” Carver asked looking up from his task and watching as Cal sat cross legged on the ground in front of him.

“Yes, thank you.” He responded in a low tone as he reached out and grabbed Carver's hand gently pulling it toward him. Carver let out a pained hiss and tensed, fighting the urge to yank his hand back as Cal gently unwound the bandage. “Sorry.” Cal mumbled as he looked over the damage to the flesh. “And..... sorry.” He added before mumbling several familiar words under his breath causing a soft warm blue glow to spread over their joined hands.

“You should have known better then to cast on an unsuspecting Templar.” He scolded as he watched the magic do what it did best. Carver had had his fair share of bumps, bruises, and broken bones and had been healed several times, first by his father and then by his brother. And yet it still fascinated him to watch as skin and bone mended under the warmth of a well trained healing spell.

“I know, I wasn't thinking. I mean I was thinking but... I didn't think... I mean.... I thought it...” Calenhad bit his lip, cheeks turning a soft shade of crimson. “It was a stupid idea. I guess I am just used to not having to warn people.” He finally said as his fingers glided gently over Carver's wrist and up his arm, setting right the black blistered flesh.

“Well next time think. Damn it Cal, he could have killed you and it would have served you right.”

Calenhad mumbled something under his breath that sounded like an apology as he began tracing his fingertips gently back down the underside of Carver's arm. He watched silently as the damaged skin began taking on the soft pinkish hue if freshly healed flesh. A small smile crept across Calenhad's lips as he worked. Healing was one basic spell Bethany could never master, and Calenhad had always been secretly proud of this fact. Not to mention it gave him those rare moments in which he had reason enough to be within arms reach of his brother.

When Calenhad smiled like that, his whole face seemed to light up and Carver could see someone he didn't recognize in his eyes. Something hidden deep within the shy, meek mage he had grown up with. Bethany would have recognized it. She had told Carver many times what Calenhad was like in the fade. How confident and charming he was when he dreamed, deep in the only world he seemed to truly belong.

Carver was suddenly very aware of his elder brother's feathery touch on his wrist. He watched as the soft fingertips danced down across his palm, the blue light fading and then disappearing entirely. Calenhad's hands lingered for another moment, slipping gently over the newly healed skin as he checked and admired his work. Carver yanked his hand away and cradled it against his stomach as he quickly rose to his feet. He turned his back on his brother with a disgusted grunt. “Go to bed Calenhad, we are leaving early. And stay away from the Templar or next time I will let him take your head.” He grumbled and quickly vacated the area.

Calenhad silently cursed at himself for gaining his brother's ire as he watched him stalk off and disappear into the shadows at the edge of camp. He stood and wandered slowly back over to where his mother and sister were sleeping and carefully wedge himself between the two. He cursed himself again before letting his mind slip into the fade where Bethany waited for him.


	3. Waves of Darkness

“Did you feel that?” Bethany asked in a low tone as she hunkard down beside her elder brother.

“Yes.” He sighed as he stared down at the dark, twisted creature that lay before him. The Templar had called the beast an Emissary, a rare form of darkspawn that had the mental capacity to cast. Calenhad wondered briefly how exactly did they cast, were they natural magic users or did they use blood magic? It was hard to tell if any of the wounds on the mangled corpse were self inflicted. To him it did not feel natural. No natural magic could be this twisted, this evil. Calenhad sighed as he snatched up his own staff and stood turning toward the others.

Bethany followed suit and stood falling into step beside him. “The Templar.” She whispered softly, more to herself then to Calenhad.

Calenhad nodded as his eyes fell on the Templar's back, a deep sympathetic look for the warrior spreading across his face despite their little run-in the night before. He had been watching the warrior all morning. The tell tale lines of infection creeping up the back of his neck had put Cal on edge. There had never been anything he couldn't heal before, be it wounds or poisons. Granted most everything he healed was minor in comparison, cuts, bruises, a few cracked skulls or ripped muscles. Not even poisons from spiders or plants presented much of a challenge for him. But this poison, whatever it was, was different. It was beyond his ability to counter, and he didn't like that one bit.

“What do we do?” Bethany asked in a hushed tone, just barely loud enough for him to hear it.

Calenhad stumbled as he tripped over the hem of his father's robes with a little _whoomph!._ Not because the robes were obviously several sizes to large for him, but because he had been suddenly caught off guard. Bethany asking his advice about such a serious problem had not been something he had expected.... Ever. Father once told him life was made up of moments that could make or break a person. Moments when others looked to you for help or advice, for leadership. What do we do? His mind a sudden torrent of thoughts. _We end it, put him out of his misery. We send him away. We go on some quest to find a cure. Pray to the maker to spare his loyal and trustworthy servant. We ask the next Emissary we see how to cure it._ He had many ideas, granted the more he came up with, the more outlandish and juvenile they became.

“I don't know.” he finally said in a small voice as he dropped his gaze, suddenly quite interested in the small scuff on his shoe just above his big toe. The moment was gone, passed like so many others past. The only comfort he could really take was the fact it was not a life changing moment.

“I guess there really is nothing we can do but wait for him to die.” She said with a small detached shrug. “Should we tell them?”

Calenhad wrinkled his nose as the tone of her voice. Wait for him to die. She had a point, there really was nothing for them to do. But to say it in such an uncaring way made her sound far too much like their mother. “He already knows he is dieing.” He said softly, kicking a small rock out of his path. “He knows I can't heal him as well.” He added in a whispered voice more for himself then Bethany. He had felt the ripple in the man's will during the altercation the night before. The Templar knew, and he had already excepted his fate.

“You tried, that is all that matters.” She said giving him a small comforting sideways bump. “Even if it did leave you on your ass.” She added with a teasing voice.

Calenhad smiled letting out a long silent sigh. He had expected Bethany to revert to what he called the 'Leandra mode'. An unpleasant look and tone Beth had adopted from their mother that was reserved especially for Calenhad when he couldn't come up with the answers they required. 

“Hurry up you two, we need to get a move on before more of those... things show up.”

“Sorry brother.” Both mages said in unison. Their was a small pause as they looked at each other before the giggling began. 

They continued on their path for a few hours more, fighting increasingly larger waves of darkspawn. Both mages and the Templar seemed to grow more and more uneasy as time passed. It almost felt as if something darker was driving the attacks, forcing the creatures into their path purposely hindering their escape. It wasn't long before they found themselves unable to push forward, barely able to even breath before another group of beasts surged over the hill to attack the small party. The best they could do now was stand their ground and hope the enemies numbers ran out. Or die at an unsigned crossroads, somewhere between the burning ruins of home behind them, and a walled city that waited for them ahead. Carver tossed his twin the last of their lyrium, the rest of them worked to catch their breath as they watched the hill for the next wave.

“Maker preserve us.” Wesley said, panic slipping into his voice as they all watched wide eyed and disbelieving. None of them could quite register the scene as several darkspawn were suddenly launched into the air. It didn't take long however to understand what the Templar had grasped almost instantly. A massive ogre had begun it's own charge toward them, running over and tossing anything and everything out if its way, including it's own allied forces.

The beast moved with a preternatural speed and was nearly on top of them before they all jumped into action. Aveline and Wesley dove to one side of the road while Carver ran and tackled his elder brother, who had still been frozen in place directly in the path of the charging monster. Carver slammed into Calenhad and both of them tumbled down a small bank coming to a rather painful halt against a large, jagged boulder. Above them they heard the earth shattering roar of the ogre as it came to a skidding halt and slammed its massive fists against the ground.

“Vile Creature! You will not harm us!” Bethany's voice was heard crying out as the rest of them regained their feet and scrambled back up to the road. The two brothers reached the top of the bank just in time to see the last of the flames die on Bethany's fingers as she was snatched up in one massive, twisted, clawed hand. No one was sure which of the brothers let out the blood curdling scream as Bethany's body was slammed repeatedly against the hard packed ground, and then tossed aside like so much unwanted garbage.

The three warriors charged the beast in a near blind rage as Calenhad raced across the road and fell beside the crumpled body of his sister. He began pouring every bit of himself into a single massive healing spell, the blue glow of his hands climbing up his arms and spreading rapidly over Bethany's broken body. Tears spilled down his cheeks in rivers as he sobbed out the spells and random prayers to the maker. He depleted his mana rather quickly as he tried to restart the crushed heart, and to force air back into the shredded lungs. Soon he began trying to tap into the very fade itself. His own will pulling and stretching the veil for the power to mend shattered bones, twisted organs, anything to feed his dieing spell with the power he needed to save his little sister as the battle raged on behind him.

“Aveline!” Wesley yelled as he shoved the woman sending her stumbling off to the side and out of the way as the ogre hand shot out to snatch her up. She barely made it out of the line of fire before the massive claw closed, grabbing Wesley instead in a painful vice-like grip. 

Wesley screamed out in a mixture of pain and frustration as his free hand began pushing in vein at the tightening fingers around his torso. He could feel the muscles begin to tear, hear his ribs groan under the pressure before they snapped and embedded themselves deep within his lungs. With his other hand he raised his sword and stabbed at the webbing between the beasts finger and thumb, succeeding in only making the monster that much angrier. He blanched, feeling the heat of the things foul breath against his skin as it took a brief moment to bellow out a triumphant roar in the Templar's face. Wesley took the opportunity to try freeing himself one last time by gripping the hilt of his sword in both hands and with his remaining strength, thrust the blade forward burying it more then half way in the monsters neck.

The ogre let out a sputtering noise as his hand released the warrior to claw at it's own throat. Wesley hit the ground hard and rolled a few feet away giving a loud yell as broken bones shifted and jabbed places they should not be. As the ogre stumbled around trying to free the blade from his body, Wesley hissed painfully as he somehow managed to push himself to his feet. He pulled all his remaining will into one final holy smite. His voice was deep and powerful as he began to chant rising above the pained roars of the ogre. White fire leapt from his hands and traveled up his arms, spreading until it engulfed the man's entire body. As the light around the Templar dissipated and the chant came to a close, the ogre lit up like a beacon. Crystalline flames leapt from the beasts body, pulling from it an agonizing scream before it toppled over and lay dead and mangled at the Templar's feet.

Wesley collapsed a second later, damaged lungs straining to pull in air. Beside him Aveline fell to her knees looking him over with fear and panic in her eyes. “Oh Wesley, no.” She said, hands hovering over his chest wanting to touch him but fearing to do so. “I will get the mage!” She started to stand only to feel the surprising iron grip of Wesley's right hand around her wrist.

“No, love. It's...over.” He whispered in a strained breathless voice.

“I don't believe that.”

Wesley shook his head weakly side to side trying to pull her toward him before his arm fell limp at his side. “It's over....too late... Stay with me.” He whispered as his eyes closed only vaguely aware as Aveline lifted him gently and slid her legs beneath him.

...~`~ 

The ogre defeated, Carver turned his attention to his own family. His sword slipped from his hands as as he ran over and fell to his knees, skidding to a halt beside his brother. He barely registered the harsh short pants from Calenhad or the loud sobs from his mother as he curled over his twin's broken body, gathering her gently into his arms. Calenhad's magic ceased as tears began to stream down Carver's cheek, quietly mumbling against his twin sister's shoulder.

“You let her die you ungrateful little bastard!” Leandra yelled as her arms shot out across Bethany's body and grabbed Calenhad by the shoulders. Calenhad hissed in pain as his mother's nails bit painfully into his shoulders and began shaking him violently back and forth. The gesture, though done in anger, was not completely unwelcome. Calenhad had nearly ripped the veil trying to bring his sister back, draining himself far beyond what was tolerable until his vision began to darken and his heart began to stutter dangerously in his chest.

“This is all your fault! Maker curse you Calenhad Hawke! Why didn't you stop it, why didn't you protect her?! You could have saved her! Damn you to the void you worthless boy!”

“Mother, please.” Carver said between sobs after several long moments. He carefully laid his sister back down and moved to pry his mother's fingers off the mage's shoulders. “Mother, stop. Please.”

“It's his fault, he's suppose to be the powerful one. Why didn't he save her!” She screamed as he gave the small frame one last powerful shove backwards, knocking him off balance and sending him toppling into the dirt.

Calenhad lay there silently sobbing, cheek pressed against the cold ground quietly praying the darkness take him. To take him and let Bethany live. Waves of dizziness swept over him, just enough to push him to the brink of unconsciousness, but never quite over. For several agonizing minutes all he could do was lay there, trying to still his stuttering heart and focus on the distant, hollow voices of his mother and brother. He wasn't sure how long he lay there, watching puffs of dust rise in front of his face with each breath before he felt a large, heavy hand wrap firmly around his bicep. “Come on kid, we need to keep moving.” Aveline's hoarse voice came to him as he was hauled unceremoniously to his feet.

“I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I couldn't save them.” He said softly as he stared down at the warrior woman's bloody boots. “Either of them.”

“It's not your fault.” she said as her voice hitched slightly. “Here, we need to keep moving.” She said softly as she passed him a couple small vials filled with lyrium. No doubt they came from the Templar's own stash. Calenhad thanked her softly and drank them both, feeling only the slightest bit more like a mage as he turned to watch Carver help their mother to her feet. 

His eyes stung with new tears as he turned his gaze once more on the broken body of his younger sister. _Maker why didn't you take me instead. Why her and not me? I deserve it more then she did... I d...._

“Shit.” Carver's voice interrupting every ones thoughts as they all turned toward the road ahead and saw the darkspawn surging once again over the hill.

“Let them take us.” Leandra said defeated as she dropped to her knees. “We are lost, without the Templar or my darling Bethany, we are lost.”

Tired, dirty, worn, empty. Each one of them felt it, and they all were ready to except their death as they stood side by side, watching the wave of dark monsters charge toward them. The last thing they would see before meeting their maker was a horizon full of smoke. The ravaged land filled with burning farms and villages, a depressed and gloomy cloud blocking out the sky. And a dark wave black as the void rolling toward them created by the darkest, most vile creatures clad in tainted, rusting steel. As the deadly tide rushed toward them,, they each took comfort in knowing their death would bring them back to their loved ones once again, and there would no longer be a reason to suffer.

“Carver!” Calenhad said in a voice much louder then his usual tone. Everyone looked toward him, and then followed his gaze and finger up toward the sky. The maker had a sense of humor, but was he truly this cruel? The endless waves of darkspawn claimed two of them already, and now this new beast, both wondrous and horrifying come to finish them off. Above them the cry of a high dragon split the air like thunder as the enormous red lizard folded it's wings and dove straight for them. The last thing they saw before they all fell flat on their stomachs and covered their heads, were the horrid yellow teeth lining it's mouth and black smoke bellowing from it's nostrils. 

They lay there for what seemed like an eternity, listening to the screeches and screams of the darkspawn as the smell of roasted rotting flesh filled the air around them. Once they had established the giant lizard was not about to destroy them, they each rose their head one by one to peek at exactly what was going on. They watched wide eyed as the last of the darkspawn was twisted and ripped in half by two enormous claws, and then the dragon's head swiveled and it's bright yellow gaze fell on the party. It let out a low, menacing growl as the form began to glow and shift, twisting and shriveling before their very eyes. Calenhad shuddered as he felt more then saw the dragon change forms. The veil straining as the creature pulled magic from the fade itself. And then it was over, the light blinked out and in it's place stood a small old woman in a dusty old dress and hair the color of old worn wool.

Calenhad was the first to regain his feet, scrambling forward and rushing toward the woman before even his brother could react and stop him, “You...you are a dragon?”

“Perceptive little one aren't you. I could be a dragon, and if I am be glad the smell of burning darkspawn does nothing for the appetite.” She said and snorted out a raspy laugh.

“Teach me to be a dragon!” He almost yelled at the woman as he stared up at her with wild puffy green eyes.

The woman threw her head back and laughed. “You want to be a dragon? Oh now that IS funny!”

“I can do it if you teach me. Please! I felt it, you pulled it from the fade, through the veil. Teach me to do that, teach me to be a dragon!” 

“Calenhad Malcolm Hawke, get back here, stop bothering the......woman...dragon..whatever she is.” Carver hissed at his brother as he and the others slowly rose to their feet.

Calenhad turned toward his brother, green eyes shooting a small apologetic gaze before he turned back to the woman. It was probably the first time in his life he ever disobeyed a direct demand from his brother, especially when it followed his full name.

“If not a dragon teach me to be stronger, you are powerful, teach me to be more powerful!” He was yelling at her now, his eyes begging and pleading with a desperation you would never believe capable of any human.

“Such an odd man you are, like a helpless child.” She reached out and grabbed the man's chin forcing his face first one way, then the other as if inspecting him like some prized animal. “You are powerful for such a coward. But you could never wield my power. I suggest you don't even think about it let alone try.” She said pulling her hand away from his face causing him to shiver slightly as her cold fingers brushed across his skin.

“CALENHAD!” his brother roared. “Get back here!” There was fear not so well hidden within his voice as his eyes watched the woman carefully.

“NO!” Calenhad said and began weeping again. “She can teach me to be a dragon! She can teach me to be strong and powerful so I don't let anyone else die! So mother will finally see me as a son and not the disappointment I am! I can't fail again!” He spun back toward the dragon witch.“TEACH ME!” he yelled at her stomping his feet in the dirt like a child on the verge of a full scale temper tantrum. The woman answered him with an amused smirk as she crossed her hands over her chest and Calenhad knew he was defeated. He fell to his knees before the woman and sobbed quietly into his hands, barely hearing the all too familiar, very disgusted grunt of his mothers disapproval. 

The woman tsk'd and turned away from the group, a small grin spreading across her face as she did so. She got three steps when Carver's voice called for her to stop. She made a half turn raising one bushy eyebrow curiously as her golden gaze fell on the warrior.

“You can't just leave us here.” 

“And why not?” She said finishing her turn and walked toward him, sidestepping the weeping mage. “I watched as you all slayed this mighty ogre. Surely you don't need my help.” She smirked again.

“We will never make it out of here alive and we need to get to Denerim. Help us.”

The woman scoffed. “Denerim is full of Refugee's and the blight will spread across all of Ferelden. It is no safer there, less so with your mage there. Better to die sooner here then wait for a death you know is coming.”

“And you have a better suggestion do you?”

“If I were you I would leave Ferelden, I hear the free marches are lovely this time of year, and I doubt your king will miss a few lowly peasants.” She guffawed at her own terrible tasteless joke.

“Yes, we could go to Kirkwall!” Leandra suddenly chimed in “I have family there, an estate. Yes we should go to Kirkwall.” Leandra stepped closer toward the witch as she tried to suddenly assert herself as leader of the group. “Take us to Kirkwall witch, and I will see to it personally that you are paid handsomely.”

This caused the old woman to let out a loud shrill laugh that made everyone cringe. “What do I need your gold for? I can make myself a dragon after all!” She laughed again. “However I will take you as far as Gwaren, for a favor.”

“Who are you?” Leandra asked.

“She is Flemeth, the witch of the wilds.” Aveline answered before the dragon woman could answer for herself.

“Some call me that, also asha'bellanar or an old woman who talks to much.” She laughed yet again making the group wonder if the woman though powerful, was more then a bit crazy in the head.

“What is the price for our safety?” Carver asked.

Flemeth stood silently for a long moment as her gaze moved from one face to the next as if searching for something. Finally she turned and approached the mage, looking down at the crumpled form in the dirt.

“Stand up boy.” 

Calenhad did as he was told and turned to face the witch. He had managed to stop his sobs, but he could not stop the hiccups and sniffling that always followed as he looked up into the woman's golden gaze.

She held a small locket up in front of the mage's face who watched as it swayed back and forth on a delicate silver chain. “You will deliver this amulet to a clan of Dalish elves outside Kirkwall, and do whatever the keeper, Marathari bid you to do. Once that is complete your debt is repaid. Do you understand?” She said never taking her golden gaze off the small mages face.

“We will do as you ask.” Leandra said stepping closer. “I will do what you ask, he is useless.” Calenhad cringed at his mothers words and turned his eyes downward.

“No.” Flemeth said keeping her gaze locked on Calenhad, her free hand reaching out and grabbing his chin forcing him to lock his gaze with hers. “The mage must swear to complete this task. I will trust him and him alone to keep his word.” Leandra gave an annoyed gasp at this but managed to hold her tongue.

Calenhad gave a small nod as he held his hand out palm up.

“Say it, boy.”

“You have my word.” He mumbled and she dropped the amulet into his hand.

“Good, now keep up. I would hate to have to carry you. It does nothing for my scales.” She guffawed as she skirted the mage and stepped off the road. “Are you coming?” She asked as she disappeared into the treeline without a look back.

Calenhad looped the small chain around his neck and ran off into the treeline after the witch, a moment later the rest followed a bit slower and much more cautiously. 

...~`~ 

Calenhad had always been sad and lonely child, his only friends were those he created in the fade while he slept. It was a skill even his father could not account for, the power to manipulate the fade as Calenhad did, to create his own world. At an age most could not even remember, Calenhad was laughing and running down the streets of his own personal kingdom. When he was twelve and the twins were seven, he taught his sister how to find him in the fade, how to share in his dream. That first night they traveled to cloud mountain, and together they slayed the mighty dragon Urthantra and saved the tall, dark, and handsome wounded prince with the tawny eyes and onyx hair. Afterwords they took tea in the palace from pink cups, because pink was the color Bethany had requested as a reward for helping save his prince.

For eleven years after, Bethany and Calenhad met in the fade, and together they build an entire kingdom worthy of two mighty and noble rulers. As they got older, so did their kingdom. New creatures, new people, and even buildings were created along side the old ones. Bethany had loved throwing balls in which she and Calenhad danced with all the eligible princes of the realm, while Calenhad loved dragging Bethany off to slay monsters and hunt down treasures to supply the kingdom with riches. Because in their kingdom no one was ever left wanting and everyone was happy. Hundreds of people and creatures living like Kings and Queens.

For eleven years there was not a single night they had not met in the fade. Every moment Calenhad slept, Bethany was there beside him. No matter their problems in the waking world, the fade was theirs and theirs alone. In their dreams, Bethany had an older brother she was infinitely proud of and had always wanted, and Calenhad had a sister who adored him and treated him as an equal. For eleven years their nights were perfect, and nothing could ever take that away from them.

Tonight when he entered the fade, there was no one running to greet him with loving smiles and warm hugs. No dragons, no knights, no nobles,, no princes or princesses. There was not a single dog or cat racing between the buildings. Not a single bird in the sky singing their sweet songs of happiness. There had been not a single nug scurrying by or nipping his ankles. And no sister in gowns made of the purest gold and silver smiling at him and demanding their dance the night away as her yellow custard poodle left sticky footprints around them.

Tonight Calenhad walked the streets of a place that was so familiar and yet so foreign. A place he had called home for all his life. But tonight the streets were empty, his world barren. Not even a warm breeze whispered across his lands. Cloud Mountain was dull and grey, the sky was no more then an empty void hanging above him. It was the first time in 23 years in which Calenhad of the fade had felt completely and utterly, helpless and alone.

...~`~ ...~`~  
  
 _A/N Ok so I know someone is going to say “OMG no! not a dreamer!”_

_Well you're right Calenhad is NOT a dreamer. According to the lore/game, A dreamer is a mage capable of entering the fade AT WILL, WITHOUT the use of lyrium. Calenhad can NOT do this. It might become clearer in future chapters for now, just know it is in fact different from Feynriel._


	4. Sea of Riddles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carver and the sea don't mix.....

**_“The death of your sibling was an unfortunate consequence, but things always work out in the end, for good or ill.”_ **

The witches words rolled around in Calenhad's mind over and over, words he would no doubt remember for a very long time. The woman, if that is what she was, had a strange way with words, speaking mostly in confused and twisted riddles. Some of them he understood, some he thought he understood, and some he would probably never quite understand. There was no doubt in his mind she was quite mad, and old, and powerful. Far more powerful then any mage he had heard of and many of the demons he had encountered, which ok wasn't very many if he thought about it. That didn't change the fact he couldn't stop thinking of it and it's applications should he ever see her again and convince her to teach him.

Cal spent the first two days on the voyage following his brother around who, as it turns out, did not have very stable sea legs. It was simple enough for Calenhad to counter, though the technique, however effective, rendered the warrior completely deaf, save for the few times Calenhad was forced to drop the spell for one reason or another, usually to rest. They had been extremely lucky to catch a ship with no Templars. According to the few priests that were aboard escorting artifacts to their new home, most Templars had stayed behind, to fight, defend, or pillage. Carver didn't seem to mind being deaf though, he was more then happy to have a reason to block out his mother's crying and the accusations she continued to heap on his elder brother. Carver could see Calenhad's face twist in pain and guilt as he sat curled in his little corner wilting under their mother's harsh words. 

By the third day Carver was able to withstand the waters movements without having to hang over the edge of the ship wasting what little food he had to eat. Calenhad was finally free to wander the ship, which he seemed to do at great lengths. The ship was small and there were few places to explore but that hadn't stopped Calenhad from doing so over and over again. He came back only when everyone was asleep, and left again before they all woke up. It was pretty obvious to the rest of them Calenhad was trying to avoid his mother whenever possible. Whenever Cal was unfortunate enough to return while Leandra was still awake, she would again bury Cal in a blanket of guilt, and Cal would stare at Carver with pleading eyes, and each time Carver would turn away, his own emotions and pain playing tug of war with his own heart.

It helped that Calenhad adored the sea even though it as his first time on a ship. He would spend most of the day on the deck leaning over the side of the ship, watching the waves and the creatures below them. It reminded him of when they lived outside Highever. The twins were still very young and Malcolm was still alive. He would stand out on the cliffs and stare out across the water, wondering about what was on the other side of the great blue mass, wishing that someday he might travel there and see for himself. His father used to tell him about the trips he had taken across the waters as he moved from one country to the next. He too had loved the sea and promised that one day they would all take a trip to Antiva together. It saddened him greatly to know that they would never make the trip and see the famed golden city.

**_“Sometimes sacrifices must be made in order to reach the end you desire, and sometimes sacrifices just have to be made.”_ **

They had been on the water for two weeks when a sudden sickness struck the passengers and spread at an alarming rate. Several believed it was the blight, others said it was the plague, some said the pox, and a couple priests swore it was the maker punishing them all for the artifact that had disappeared from their belongings a couple nights before. The Hawke party alone seemed immune to the effects of the disease, and Leandra complained at great lengths about being forced to share breathing space with the sick, demanding that they were moved to a more private location elsewhere on the vessel. Calenhad secretly took a great deal of satisfaction from watching his mother taken down a peg time and time again. Each time she would climb up to the docks to complain, and each time she would return face red with anger and embarrassment. 

But as always the Maker finds a way, or so the chantry would have you believe. Within a week of the illness starting, it ended seemingly over night. Everyone had gone to sleep hacking and coughing, a few swearing they were on the verge of death, and in the morning there were was nothing more then a few dry air sneezes and nauseous stomachs. Everyone on the ship had rejoiced in the Maker's sudden gift. Everyone except Calenhad who claimed to have suddenly come down with a severe case of motion sickness and slept for the better part of two days.

**_“Not everything works out exactly according to plan. Accidents are bound to happen, even to someone as old and powerful as I.”_ **

Aveline woke up the second day after the 'crisis' had passed, to a small whimpering sound beside her. She rolled over on her back and looked over, her eyes working to focus in the dusty darkness of the hold. There beside her was Calenhad, mumbling in his sleep less then two feet way from her, his hand looking as if it were trying to stretch out for her, but never quite had the nerve to touch her. She found the boy, the man, a rather curious specimen. She could not seem to wrap her head around the fact someone of his years could be so....him. Most men of his poor status and age would have been working themselves to the bone to support his parent and younger siblings maybe even a wife, or being what he was, shipped off to the circle and made tranquil. To her he seemed more the child then an actual full grown man.

She sat up and rubbed the sleep from her eyes before glancing around. Carver was sitting not far from them beside his mother fingering a small bit of blue cloth in his left hand while staring blindly at the wall of the ship. Aveline stood and carefully stepped over the sleeping mage moving to sit down beside the other warrior who nearly jumped when he heard her flop heavily beside him.

“Can I ask you something?” She said in a low whispering voice.

Carver looked over at her then followed her gaze letting out a small chuckle as he did. The look in her eyes was the same look he had seen cast across many faces before, asking the same questions, wanting the same answers. “It's about Calenhad right. You don't understand how it is he can be the way he is and still survive.” He said in the same low whispering tone. The question varied in small ways, but it was always the same where it counted. How was it that boy could survive in such a harsh land with so many harsh people.

“I would have expected someone as soft as him to be dead by now, especially because he is a mage.”

“He is very good at hiding his magic.”

“But that still leaves everything else.”

Carver shook his head and smiled as he watched his brother's shoulder shift with each breath. “It's just his way. I never quite understood it myself but.... well, he doesn't close himself off. You're a warrior you know what I mean.” He turned his gaze back to the small cloth in his hand before glancing around the hold. They were in a relatively private area tucked away behind several large beams and carefully anchored barrels, but it wouldn't do for someone to over hear them. “Father once said it was his compassion and empathy for others that made him such a good healer. He used to say that Calenhad could feel and sometimes share the pain and sorrow of those close to him. It is what makes him so unique. Despite everything we have gone through and the things he has seen, he retains an innocence most of us lost long before we could be called adults. I don't know how, I don't think even father knew.” Carver chuckled again shaking his head.

Aveline hugged her knees to her chest and looked over at the mage then back to the warrior. “Has he always been so... special? Do you not fear the weakness within him? A weak mage is a terrible risk and a burden you shouldn't want or have to bare.”

Carver scoffed as he turned his head away from the other warrior, his face twisting in a disgusted and disapproving way before looking back. “He is far from weak Aveline, at least the way you imply. His will is infinitely stronger then just about any mage you will ever meet, even if it doesn't seem so. He is ungraceful, clumsy, maladroit, but he is far from stupid, and FAR from special.” He spat out the last word as if it were poison on the tongue. “He may be a burden, but it is one I swore to carry. It's not so bad though, he is little trouble despite what mother would have you believe.” Carver smiled softly. “And trying to convince him to do or take anything for his own personal greed and desire is like trying to convince the Maker to show himself during a Winter's End celebration. I do not fear him becoming an abomination, nor do I fear any harm will come to us because of him.”

Aveline shrugged as she stood and brushed off the seat of her pants. “I hope you are right young master Hawke, I would hate to be there should he ever prove you wrong. Just remember the circle exists for a reason. I suggest you think about it.” She said before turning and heading for the ladder leading to the deck.

Carver shook his head as he watched silently after her until she disappeared. Her warnings would of course go in one ear and out the other, it was something he heard often from his own mother. How much of a chance they took every day with such a weak man child following them around. How they should just dump him in the circle despite Malcolm's wishes and get it over with. But like Calenhad, Carver did not break his word if possible. As he lay down beside his mother and closed his eyes, his father's voice drifted to the front of his mind.

_It is up to you to lead the family Carver, and to protect your brother when I am gone. There is only death for him without us, without you. It is up to you when I am gone to keep him safe and to help him. Calenhad is..........._

Carver fell into a restless sleep plagued by darkspawn and death.

**_“Do not dwell on it child, forget it and move on. Lingering too long on your pain and guilt will help no one and in the end will consume and destroy you. Not every sacrifice starts out with a purpose, but in the end it feeds the flames and helps to achieve ones goal just a little bit faster.” Her dark cackle sent chills up Calenhad's spine._ **

Other then a few much too early winter storms, the rest of their journey had been rather uneventful. It had taken the small ship just over a month after leaving Gwaren to circle Ferelden and dock in the 'wondrous' Kirkwall. Or as it was better known to the rest of the world, The City of Chains. Calenhad didn't know why, but he hated the place from the moment the ship docked. The city felt wrong to him, tainted to it's very core with anger and hatred. Leandra however nearly took off running for the gates the moment she stepped foot on the old cobbles of her childhood city. 

“There's lotta Templars. here, if'n I were you I would tread careful-like young man.” A low gravely voice muttered far too close to Calenhad's ear. Calenhad jumped and let out a small squeak, the sound closely resembling a small baby bird pecked suddenly from behind by a playful sibling. Calenhad moved shuffling quickly behind Aveline, hiding himself behind her much larger frame like a child behind it's mothers petticoats.

“I'm sorry.” An elderly man with several scars and wispy white hair said as he held his hands up. “A bit jumpy aren't we? I did'na mean to frighten you and I mean you no harm. M'name's Tyaran. I jus' felt I should warn you, this city is ruled by them Templars.”

“Why are you warning us of this, we have nothing to fear from the Templars.” Carver said bringing himself to full height while simultaneously placing himself between the old man and Aveline.

“'O'course not, were a miracle that healed all them sick folks.” He said as he leaned sideways to look around Carver and toward Calenhad who was peeking around Aveline in a rather amusing and child-like fashion. “Ain't got nothing to hide.” He winked. “And you ain't got nothin' to fear from me, just sayin'.” He grinned before turning away and heading toward the gates of the city.

Leandra scowled. “I knew it was you. You would risk us all for some strangers on a boat. Really Calenhad where is your head!”

“I am sorry Mother.” He said softly as he pulled his head back behind Aveline, his fingers absently tugging at a thread hanging from the back of the woman's shirt. Aveline felt the slight tug as she tried, and failed, to keep a very amused grin from spreading across her lips.

“Good, now lets go find Gamlen, I need a bath. We all do and a proper meal. Come Maferath.” She said as she turned and marched toward the gates, her noble blood suddenly surfacing full swing.

Aveline smiled as she turned and gave Calenhad a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “You did right by those people, don't go doubting that.” She said in a low voice as the rest of them followed the bitter old woman. She couldn't explain it but she had grown to care for the young man. It turned out Carver may have been right about him, he didn't seem much of a threat to anyone let alone his own family. Of course time could make fools out of everyone if given a chance.

“Lovely, they aren't letting anyone into the city.” Carver grumbled as they approached the gates.

“Nonsense I have family here, we will get in just fine.” Leandra said as she bullied her way to the head of the crowd, shouldering anyone she could out of her way.

“No one gets into the city unless they have business.” One of the guards said in a very automated, bored tone.

“We have business, I am Leandra Amell and I demand you let me into the city to find my brother.”

The guard looked at the woman and scoffed. “You think you have business here? Take it up with the captain, but don't expect any special treatment, from the looks of it your no different then the rest of these poor buggers. You will find him in the Gallows courtyard.”

Leandra growled as she pushed her way past the guards and up the stairs leading to the courtyard while the others hurried to follow her. The closer they got, the more uneasy Calenhad began to feel and eventually ended up walking so close to his brother, their arm's bumped each time he stepped. Carver was less then amused, each time he put a small distance between them only to have Calenhad close it again within the next few steps.

“You! Captain, I demand you...” Leandra began as she marched up to the man standing in the center of the courtyard giving orders to several guards.

“Demand?” The captain cut her off raising an eyebrow as his gaze fell on her. “I suggest you change your tone Ferelden, this is not the land of dog lords. I suggest you keep your barbarism in check when speaking to me.”

Leandra glared daggers at the man. “I request your assistance in finding my brother Gamlen Amell. He is a noble man in the city and I would speak with him.”

The man snorted. “Gamlen a noble, now there is a laugh. I know Gamlen Amell, man gets in more trouble then he's worth. Don't expect him to help you.” He turned to a man behind him and barked a few orders at him before turning back to Leandra. “If he's not busy hiding from some loan shark or Mercenary group he might show up. Till then I suggest you get comfortable.”

“Unacceptable, I demand to be let into the city.”

“Make one more demand of me lady and it will be your last. Now I suggest you get out of my face, before I throw you across this courtyard.”

Leandra raised her finger toward the man and was about to lay into him when Carver quickly took a hold of her and pulled her away. “Mother, this is not the way.” He said gently and dragged her back toward one of the massive pillars to calm her down. Calenhad and Aveline followed silently at what they felt to be a safe distance.

The maker has a sense of humor, or so the old saying goes. And it seemed he had no shortage of cruel jokes for the Hawke family. They had spent most of the day waiting around the gallows courtyard watching as merchants cheated the refugees out of their precious few possessions, and dodging a few fights that broke out as some of the other Ferelden's tried bullying their way into the city. Carver and Aveline spent much of their time talking about different warrior skills while Calenhad tossed sticks and rocks across the yard for Maferath to chase.

The group eventually dozed off in the early evening sun when they were disturbed suddenly by a rather loud obnoxious voice. “Leandra, girl the years haven't been kind to you! Look at that, greyer'n a stormy sky!” 

Leandra beamed as she jumped up and rushed into her brothers arms hugging him tightly. “Gamlen, so good to see you again, brother!”

“Yes good to see you again as well, it has been to long.” He said hugging her back tightly. 

“It has, and now I am home and we can get into this blasted city!”

“Yeah, about that.” Gamlen said with a nervous chuckle. “I was planning on greasing a few palms to get you into the city but.... could you let go.” He said as he worked to pry his sister's arms off of him. “But they have been really cracking down, we are going to need a lot more grease......Leandra dear, you're pinching.” 

“What do you mean? You have the estate, father's wealth.” Leandra finally let go of her brother crossing her hands over her chest with a frown.

“Yes well, its gone, I've been meaning to write you.” 

“Well what do you propose then, we need to get into the city.” Carver cut in. “If you can get mother in, I am sure the three of us can find our own way.”

“No! We are all going together, I will not let us separate.” Leandra said. “There has to be a way to get us all in.”

“Well I have a way, I know two people who can get you in, but you thr.... Where is your sister?” He looked over at Carver and Calenhad. The looks on their faces was all the answer he needed and he nodded. “I'm sorry. You two will have to work for them.”

“You sold my children into slavery? Gamlen you can't do that! Calenhad is not meant for such hard labors!” Leandra said in voice that could for a moment be confused as concern for her eldest. No one was completely certain if the small not so amused grunt that followed came from Carver or Calenhad. 

“It's not slavery besides, we need them if you are going to get into the city. And it's only for two years.”

“It will be fine mother.” Carver said as he placed a hand on his mother's shoulder turning his attention to Gamlen. “Who are these people we need to speak with, Ser Amell.” 

“Call me uncle Gamlen boy! Maker I know we just met, but we are family!” He snorted. “Athenril is a smuggler, and Meeran runs the Red Iron mercenary group. Both are willing to hire you and get you all into Kirkwall.”

“And Aveline?” Carver asked.

Gamlen looked the woman up and down and shrugged “They were expecting three anyway, shouldn't be a problem. Pull your weight you can stay with us for a time. Might be a tight fit though.”

“Thank you.” she said with a slight nod.

“Lets go talk to these people then, get this over with. If nothing else I need a bath house I smell like the damn mabari.” Carver grunted as they turned and headed in the direction Gamlen had pointed out.

Maferath growled at that as he fell in beside his master. It was true though, white fur matted and grey, clumped with maker knew what. “Yeah you heard me.” Carver said grinning down at the dog patting the animals massive head. “You stink and you know it.” The dog barked happily as he pressed his head into Carver's hand.

“Meeran?”

The man addressed turned and stared for a long moment at the three before him. , eyes scanning each of them slowly from head to toe. “Your uncle said there were going to be two mages, but I see two warriors.” Calenhad side stepped half hiding behind Aveline again as the man's eye settled on him. “And a coward.” He added with a curious tilt of his head.

“Gamlen told you he was a mage?” 

“Of course, we'll pay well for mages. But again I only see one.”

“The other.... did not make it to the city.” Carver said with no small amount of pain in his voice, “but Aveline is a very capable warrior.”

Meeran grunted. “Well lets see how you do...”

“Wait.” Carver said, holding up one hand. “before we decide on anything, I want to know more about you.” 

Meeran's eyes narrowed as he glared at Carver, then his face softened as a rather disturbing grin crossed his lips. “Right your barbarians, not Marchers like your uncle. Fair enough. The Red Iron is well known in these parts, we pick who we work for and keep our noses clean. But anyone screws with us we mess them up.” He narrowed his eyes again. “Make sense?”

Carver gave a rather dark humorless grin. “Makes sense, tell us what you need us to do.”

“Noble bastard named Friedrich is roaming around here in the gallows. Gave us bad info, almost killed my men. Take care of him and his men and your in. And don't worry, no one will ask questions. You'll find him hiding around there somewhere.” He waved a hand toward a large stone archway with a half closed wrought iron gate a few dozen yards away. 

Carver nodded and he and Aveline headed toward the archways speaking to each other in low tones. Calenhad paused for a moment staring at the small group of Mercenaries, his eyes falling on one in particular. A vile looking man full of scars and coarse black hair. He was missing an eye, but that didn't stop the creepy feeling he felt as the man licked his lips and leered at him through the other. Calenhad shuddered as he turned and took off after the two warriors, behind him he heard someone speak in a low rumbling voice followed by a burst of laughter.

“We aren't really going to kill anyone are we?” Calenhad asked softly as he caught up and wedged himself between the two warriors.

Carver looked down into those two big concerned eyes for a moment then turned his gaze forward again. “We have no choice, we do this or end up smuggling who knows what to who knows where.”

“Can't we find another way? Do we have to be killers?”

“This is it Cal I suggest you get used to it.” Carver said in a tone that sounded far more harsh then he had meant it to.

Calenhad dropped back a few steps and silently followed with his head bowed. Carver sighed softly, he knew how hard this was going to be for his brother. Mercenary meant a lot of killing in Ferelden, it probably meant the same here. He also knew there was no way around it and coddling his brother was not going to change anything.

It didn't take long for Aveline and Carver to carry out the requested job, the noble and a small guard force put up very little fight. Calenhad stood silently aside and watched as the cobbles were stained red with blood. He dared not cast any spells for fear of anyone noticing and raising an alarm. For one his staff was rolled safely hidden in a large bit of canvas back with his mother. Also there was the undeniable presence of many, many Templars. nearby. He could not pinpoint their exact location, but there was no doubt in his mind they were there, and far too close.

With the nobles dead and Meeran off making the proper arrangements the three of them rejoined Leandra and Gamlen who where busy chatting about old times. By the look of Leandra's face, the talk had not been anything what she had wanted to hear.

“It's done, Meeran is going to talk to the guards now.”

“Good I will go make sure it's done right.” Gamlen said and hurried off toward the group of Red Irons.

“Well, good job Carver, Aveline. We made it into the city and we have a new home.” Leandra said with no small amount of smug satisfaction in her voice. “Let us hope nothing has us fleeing for the hills this time.” She said glancing at Calenhad before turning and heading across the yard.

**_“Just remember child, we see the world in a way no one will ever understand. To us things are never how they look, and almost always what they seem.” Another cackle that made goose pimples rise on Cal's arms._ **

“Two fucking years.” Carver said in a slightly darker voice then normal, even he seemed to be getting annoyed with his mother. “Lets go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The more I write of this story, the more I go "This story sucks why am I posting it!" >_> I hate my writing skills. But I love my lovely Calenhad too much to stop... yet. Flemeth's lines are not in-game I made them up so don't ask "When did she say that shit?" :P


	5. Hard Lessons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
>  ** _WARNING:_** _I guess I have to put this here, possibly trigger-y stuff. This is not a very nice chapter. No explicit naked stuff going on, but definite unwanted touching and slight skin mutilation involved.  
>  It's a day early I know but if I don't post it now I may not later lol_  
> ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Calenhad was sure the person who had coined the phrase; _Killing a man is like bedding a whore, easy to do and very worthwhile in the end,_ had never actually killed a man, or for that matter probably never bedded a whore. Truthfully, he'd done very few things himself men his age often considered marks of manhood. Scraping at the fuzz that dusted his face was his limit, so his mother would say.

His mother. Leandra was always one to ridicule him for his failures. She would likely have helped Meeran in whatever depraved thing he had in mind if she knew. All the woman cared for was money and he was a pretty bad provider. If she had a chance to rid herself of her least favorite child, Calenhad did not doubt she would take it. His mother was like Meeran, in that, forever punishing or ridding herself of those she considered chaff.

Calenhad knew, as he had known for years, that he was very much chaff in his mother's eyes. Now... now he had proven it out in the world. Now he would pay the price. Praying to the Maker for mercy would do little to help. He'd tried that as a child and it had never stopped Leandra's spoon from impacting with the tender flesh of his backside. When Malcolm was away, it was all he had to look forward to, along with the mocking laughter of his siblings...

It had been one hundred and twenty four of the most agonizing days of Calenhad's life before he finally found himself standing before Meeran's large oak desk, shaking with apprehension and fear. He had screwed up before, but nothing a few coins and endless bitching and complaining from his mother couldn't fix. This time however the coins and near worthless gems he had stashed away at home could do nothing to get him out of the fire this time. 

“Three crates, three crates of goods. AND you let Naerlyn escape. You cost me nearly thirty sovereign kid.” Meeran began after what seemed like an eternity of silence. “You know usually the payment for such a thing would be your head.”

Calenhad shuddered slightly, shifting from one foot to the other as the hand holding his left arm tightened. He glanced up at the man standing before him, the anger in his eyes blazing despite the cold calm in his voice. Calenhad opened his mouth to say something, an apology, an explanation, anything that might soften the blow. After a moment he snapped his mouth shut again and bowed his head. In truth there was nothing he could say or do to get him out of this one, and not for the first time, he desperately wished his brother was here to help him. He had come to face Meeran alone, unwilling to drag Carver into his little blunder, but he was quickly beginning to think that had been a mistake.

“You are lucky you know.” Meeran said finally when the mage failed to speak. “As it is, we have few mages working for us, and you are our only healer... for now.” He sighed pushing off the desk and moved to sit in the large chair behind it. “I find myself in a position I do not much care for. You still happen to be far more valuable to me alive and functioning then dead, so I am going to let you go with a warning..... this time.” Meeran said as he leaned back in his chair folding his hands over his stomach. 

Cal relaxed slightly, letting out a breath he didn't realize he was holding in. he had been sure Meeran was going to take one of his limbs, or worse his eyes since everyone knew mages didn't actually need those to live perfectly normal lives. He wasn't completely sure he liked the idea of Meeran letting him off so easily, such things usually came with an even higher price. But at the moment he didn't really care, his main thought was getting the void out of that office before Meeran changed his mind.

Meeran chuckled darkly as he watched the stressed lines in Calenhad's face smooth out as he relaxed. He was more then a little amused the mage was expecting to walk out without any form of punishment. Meeran gave a little nod of his head and before Calenhad could react, he felt himself lifted in the air and slammed violently down onto the hard wood surface of the desk, effectively knocking the wind out of him. As he went to sit up, he felt a hand grab the front of his shirt and slam him down once again making it that much more difficult to suck air back into his lungs. 

“I didn't say you were off the hook, I said I was letting you go with a warning. One you will not soon forget.”

Calenhad felt the fear rise in his gut as Jareth climbed up on the desk straddling his legs and pinning his hands under bony knees. Calenhad opened his mouth to cast a simple throwback spell when Jareth's dirty, foul smelling hand clamped down mashing his lips against his teeth and filling his mouth with a vile taste. Calenhad's stomach lurched as he fought to press his lips together trying to block out anymore of the filth that now lingered against his tongue.

“Oooh no, we can't have you casting any spells now can we little princess.” Jareth growled as he bent, pressing his torso against the mage's. “You get to lay there like a good little mage and take your punishment.” His lips spread in a ugly grin showing too many, and too few, rotting jagged teeth lining swollen bruise colored gums. 

Calenhad turned his head as much as was possible and looked toward Meeran throwing the man a desperate, pleading look. Meeran only grinned as he watched the small bit of hope for mercy fade away in those large frightened eyes. A rather amused, if a not slightly satisfied look, crossed the mercenaries face as he realized this little 'warning' was going to be far more torturous for the mage then he had initially expected. Unlike Jareth, he had always found the soft and innocent thing extremely annoying and pointless. Men like Cal were far too easy to break and the only thing he liked more then the suffering that came with mutilation or beating a man to death, was breaking a man with a spirit and an arm as strong or stronger then his own. 

“Turn his head, I want the right side.” Dar, a man who's only redeeming quality was the fact he bathed more then once a month, muttered as he cut off Calenhad's view of Meeran.

Cal saw Dar set down a bottle of red ink and several needles before Jareth forced his head in the opposite direction. He was now looking at the door and could almost see Aveline or Carver, or anyone for that matter, burst through the door and save him from whatever humiliation Dar was planning on etching into his flesh. But of course things in real life never ended as they did in the stories, and the door remained closed as he felt the first stab of a needle on his cheek. The one thought that came to the forefront of his mind as he squeezed his eyes shut against the pain was if the needle was as dirty as the man holding it.

“Damn it, mage.” Jareth said in a low husky voice as he let his free hand slip between them and brush across the front of Cal's trews before moving it to press firmly on the mage's shoulder. Calenhad shuddered and let out a muffled sob as he felt the vile man's cock twitch against his hip.

“damn it Jareth, if you're going to fuck with him at least keep him still.” Dar grumbled as he paused in his inking.

“Oh come on let him squirm, I like it when he squirms.” Jareth said as he stared down into Cal's face with one shit colored eye. “Meeran, why don'cha let me have him for a night. Just once. The things I could do to him in a single night.” He said as he began moving his hips in a slow steady motion against the mage beneath him. 

“Maybe next time.” Meeran said with more then a little amusement coloring his voice. “And we all know there will be a next time, right Calenhad?”

Calenhad choked back another sob as he fought to stop both the churning in his stomach, and the shivering of his body that was causing more friction to the quickly growing erection in Jareth's breeches. He was thankful he couldn't see the man, he only wished he could dull the other senses that were being consumed by the man above him. He could feel the hot sour breath gusting over his flesh smelling of cheap whiskey and days old mutton, the sweat that dripped from the man's face and down the back of his neck. He could feel the man's heart as it sped up to match his growing excitement. He could smell the piss and grime on the man's fingers as they slid down his neck leaving a trail of filth he couldn't quite ignore. The stench of the man burned the back of his throat adding to the taste of him already on his tongue.

“Ah shit!” Dar suddenly said as he leaned back. “Man Jareth I told you keep him still, the damn thing is coming out crooked!”

“If you want a model I will be glad to whip mine out for you. I would love to see my dick tattooed on the little man's face, that way he will never forget me. Isn't that right princess.” He grinned as he felt the mage's entire body shudder in disgust under him. “damn,” He grunted as he took a long deep breath in through his nose. “You smell good when your scared you know that?” He dipped his head down and ran his tongue slowly across Calenhad's throat letting out a deep groan as he did. “Taste good too. Can't wait till you fuck up another job.” He whispered in the mage's ear. “Because when you do, I swear you will never forget the feel of me princess.”

He wasn't sure how long he lay there pinned between the hard wooden desk and the equally hard body of his one eyed capture, listening to the vile promises of that one 'special night' turn into non-coherent babbling. At some point his face had thankfully gone numb, whether it was a good thing or a bad thing was the furthest thing from Calenhad's mind. What did begin to concern him was how hard it was becoming to breath. Between the man's sour breath growing quicker and more uneven, and the pressure he was using to grind his body against his own, it had become increasingly harder to draw in air. What seemed an eternity later Jareth's body went completely ridged as his breath hitched deep in his throat. Fresh tears began to spill from tightly closed eyelids as his entire body jerked violently under the man as he felt the pulsing muscle against his hip. The bile rising in the back of his throat was suddenly forgotten as a sharp searing pain shot through his right eye and across his brain.

“Damn it Jareth! You gotta do that shit now? I damn near blinded him!” Dar suddenly snapped as he leaned back in his chair.

“Screw you.” Jareth managed to huff out as his entire body went lax pushing a pained muffled groan from the mage below him as his full weight pressed down. A twinge of panic surged through Cal as he struggled against the man's weight to take in air.

“No, thanks.” Dar snorted as he dropped the needle on the desk. “Besides after that little show, I don't think you would be up for the challenge. I hope you at least change your pants, man you really are sick.”

“I try.” Jareth grunted as he lifted his weight just enough for Calenhad to breath more naturally. “You think I'm sick princess? Yeah you probably do. For now anyway. But just wait I will have you begging for it one day.”

“That's enough. Get him out of here I have work to do.” Meeran's voice drifted to Cal's ears from some distant plane of existence.

Jareth's weight lifted suddenly and completely giving Calenhad the chance to all but throw himself sideways and off the desk landing heavily on the floor with a thump. He lay there for some time gasping for air and hugging his bruised hands to his chest, trying to control the nauseous feeling in his stomach. After a few moments he felt a hand wrap painfully around his right arm and jerk him violently to his feet. He was held there until he finally managed to roll his head back and look up into Jareth's one good eye.

“I will see you soon my little princess.” He whispered when he had Calenhad's attention. “And I do hope it is sooner rather then later.” He grinned and pressed his sour wet lips hard against the side of Calenhad's mouth before shoving him toward the door, which Meeran was holding open waiting to give him another helpful shove through the door and spilling out into the alley.

When the laughs were silenced behind a slamming door, Calenhad pushed himself to his hands and knees as his stomach began to spasm painfully as he was unable to control it anymore. The only thing he could think of was the vile smell of Jareth on his skin and clothes, the feel of dirty rough fingers on his neck and the taste of wet sour lips against his own. And then his mind went blissfully blank as the bile burned its way up the back of his throat and out his mouth, tears streamed down his face as every muscle in his body went ridged and spasmed, trying to purge the feel and memory from his body. The last thing he though before blacking out was how he could ever face the shamed disappointed glare of his brother.

...~`~ 

Carver had been pacing back and forth across the small living room for nearly an hour cursing the name of his elder brother. Aveline was out on a job, and his mother and uncle had long since gone to bed, which only left Calenhad who, or so he was told, had actually went to Meeran to face his punishment alone. Probably one of the dumbest things he had done since coming to Kirkwall.

“Come on Maferath.” Carver finally said as he snatched up his sword. The dog huffed as he left is comfortable spot on the hearth and followed his master into the night. “We have to find Calenhad.”

Maferath barked and took off down the stairs. Carver was about to run after him when the dog bolted across the small yard and stopped, laying down in front of a small alcove under one of their neighbors staircases. Carver was a bit confused as he descended the stairs to their own hovel and crossed the yard. He was about to call for the dog again when he heard a small voice trying to shoo away his dog.

“Calenhad?” Carver asked as he knelt down beside the dog. He peered in and saw his brother curled in a tight ball hugging his knees to his chest and hiding his face in his lap. “What are you doing here, you should be inside.”

“Go away.” Calenhad said in a quiet muffled tone.

“Cal come out here and tell me what happen.”

“No.” 

Carver was actually too shocked to say anything for a minute, the word no was generally not a word Cal used when speaking to his brother, or anyone for that matter. It was a sure sign something was very off. “Calenhad Malcolm Hawke you get your little arse out here right now.” He finally managed after a long pause.

Calenhad sighed softly as he turned and crawled out of his hiding place, hissing quietly as he bumped one bruised hand against a small stone. Carver and Maferath both stood and moved away giving the mage room. Cal slowly regained his feet and stood keeping his head bowed. His hair was loose and it looked as if he had purposely made it fall to cover the whole right side of his face.

Calenhad flinched, his entire body going tense as if ready to bolt when Carver reached out and pushed the hair back from his brother's face. He let out a small gasp before he could stop himself. “Meeran did this?” He said in a disbelieving tone as he carefully forced Calenhad's head to tilt so he could better see in the dim light. A very bad rendition of a crooked cock and something else was etched in the puffy skin. Carver was sure he knew what the picture was suppose to be, and shuddered at the thought of having to walk around with that on his face for the rest of his life.

“Yes...No....Umm... It was... Dar.” Calenhad stuttered as he pulled his face away from his brother's grip and took a small step back. He could hear Maferath moving behind him as if cutting off his only escape route should he suddenly decide to bolt.

“And who did that?” Carver said as he pointed at Cal's hand.

Calenhad shuddered slightly as he put both hands behind his back hiding them from view. “Jareth.” His voice sounded on the verge of tears again.

Carver face twisted in disgust at the thought of Jareth touching his brother. “Let's go home, I will talk to Tomwise tomorrow. Maybe we can find someone who can cover it up.”

“No!” Calenhad almost yelled as he looked up. “No, can't we just like, cover it up with bandages and say I hurt myself? I don't want anyone to see it, ever.”

“You would walk around the rest of your life with a bandage on your face?” Carver asked in a slightly teasing voice, but the look on Cal's face told him that was exactly what he had planned on doing. Carver smiled softly. “You know I have a tattoo of a Mabari. Maybe we can you get one to match. He said as he lifted up his shirt and showed Calenhad the dog he had tattooed on his stomach. “Just a shame they didn't have white ink to look more like Maferath. I can make him bark too, watch.” He said and flexed his muscles making the dog's mouth move as if it were barking. To emphasis it, he added a few rather convincing barking noises himself, which Maferath answered in an almost unamused tone. 

Calenhad covered his mouth with one hand to hide the small giggle and smile that was forming on his lips. “You do know I've seen it before.” He said tilting his head slightly to one side squinting his right eye in an odd fashion. “I never seen the rest of him though, is he only half a mabari?”

Carver chuckled as he looked down at his own tattoo. “No he is whole.”

“Where is his tail?” Cal asked as his eyes followed the tattoo down his stomach to where it disappeared under his belt.

This caused Carver to laugh lightly as he shoved his shirt down. He was glad for the dark allowing the sudden blush in his cheeks to go unnoticed. “Mabari don't have tails Cal.”

“Maferath has one..... Sort of.”

“Come on you knucklehead.” He said as he threw an arm around his brother and felt the mage immediately tense. He could feel the shudder that coursed through Cal's body as if it took all his willpower not to run from Carver's touch. “Tomorrow we will talk to Tomwise and find a good tattoo artist to do a coverup. I promise it will be fine and no one will have to know. Right Maferath?” He asked the dog as he took his arm from his brother's shoulder and allowing Cal to widen the space between them.

The dog woofed in agreement as he took the lead trotting back across the yard.

“Ok brother, if you say so. I trust you.” Calenhad said softly as he walked head bowed beside his brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you Bucklesinthesun over at DevArt for helping me get through the first few paragraphs of the chapter! without you I would have been lost and it would never have been posted! (hug)
> 
> P.S. I freaking HATE Notes sometimes!


	6. Personal Demons

Carver rolled onto his back with an annoyed grunt as the dream he had been trying to hold onto finally dissipated under the pain in his hip. Of all the places on the shallow slope, he had to pitch his tent on the one spot covered in rocks. That was the last time he waited till after sunset to stop and set camp. He opened his eyes and stared up at the canvas for several minutes trying to gauge the time. By the way the shadows fell across the tent he figured it was still early morning. That was good as he wanted to make the Dalish camp before mid-day giving them a good day and a half rest before they had to make the trip back down the mountain.

With a soft sigh he sat up and quickly pulled on his trousers and tunic only vaguely aware that Maferath was not there to hinder him as he climbed out of the tent and looked around the area as he strapped on his boots. He had to admit the beauty of Sundermount was something to behold, far nicer then the streets of Kirkwall at any rate. It was quite peaceful up here on the side of the mountain, bird songs and the gentle rustle of trees the only things to break the silence. Living in Lowtown and crawling through the bowels of the city for the Red Iron didn't give you much time to admire the beauty of the Marches. High walls and foundries filling the sky with smoke and ash didn't help.

“Time to wake up brother.” He called as he stood and stretched the muscles in his shoulders and back before rubbing at the sore spot on his hip. No doubt it would bruise if it wasn't already. He let out a small sigh as he walked over to the other tent and pulled the flap back. “Cal wa...” His words cut off as he frowned at the empty tent. He stood straight again letting the canvas slip from his fingers as he looked around the small slope. Cal's own boots were gone, so no random slave snatchers or wild animals he somehow hadn't heard in the night.

“Calenhad!” Carver yelled as he moved back to his own tent and reached in to grab the blade hiding under the edge of his bedroll. It was not like Calenhad wander too far off even with Maferath at his side. “Maferath!” He called instead and heard a bark from somewhere over the next bend. He took off at a full run in the general direction of his dog's reply. He quickly breached the rise ready for any trouble he would find. What he found was Maferath laying on the ground eating what looked to be a rabbit and watching as the small frame of his brother began to work his way out of a large patch of thorned bushes with stained hands and lips. 

Carver shook his head as he slowly made his way toward Calenhad who had finally worked his way out of the tangled mass. For a moment it reminded him painfully of Ferelden, back when they lived in Highever. He and Bethany were still very young in those days when their father would take the three of them out toward West Hill for a bit of mage training. During the warm season they would sometimes return home with a small sack of wild berries for their mother to bake with, assuming the berries made it that far. Most of the time they would return with four grinning faces stained red.

Carver, who had never actually been magically inclined, would gripe at great lengths about being dragged along during the cooler seasons. He would much rather have been at home practicing with the wooden sword and dummy his father made for him behind their little hut. It was the one thing he had that his siblings didn't, mages after all couldn't fight using metal unless they wanted to hinder their own innate abilities. The only part he had truly enjoyed during those trips was watching as Bethany singed off her own eyebrows and Cal slip and fall on his own ice. It wasn't until many years later that he realized just how important it was for him to learn everything he could, just in case...... He shuddered slightly and shook the thought from his mind before it could fully form.

“Carver?” Calenhad's voice broke through the dark thoughts that suddenly polluted his mind as he looked down into the bright grinning eyes of his brother. “Try one, they are really quite good.” Calenhad said as he held a handful just under Carver's face.

“What if they had been poison?”

“They aren't, go on try one.” 

Carver took a couple of the berries and popped them into his mouth chewing them cautiously. He smiled and nodded in agreement, they were good, and very sweet. That would explain his brother's wild dancing gaze. “But you're bleeding.” He reached out and gently took his brother's chin in one hand forcing his head to the side. He brushed his thumb just under the fire-bird's tail clearing away the blood from one of the larger scratches. The bird had come out much better then they could have hoped for. Tomwise turned out to be a master with a needle and had done the inking himself, telling Calenhad the origin of the Fire-bird as he worked effectively keeping Cal's mind at ease. Calenhad had been reluctant at first when Tomwise voiced his idea, saying he had no skill with fire spells so having such a thing on his face would be a bit misleading, to those who knew of his talents anyway. As it turned out, it had ended up quite fetching set against his dark skin and was much remarked upon by anyone whose eyes lingered over Calenhad's face.

Carver felt as much as saw the flash of soft blue magic under his thumb as Calenhad healed the scratch leaving the skin once again unscathed. Carver pulled his hand quickly away and rubbed it against his thigh as if trying to rid the residual feel of magic and blood from his fingertips. 

“Help me pick more?” 

Carver smiled and nodded as he snatched a few more berries from his brother's hand. “Sure, let me go back and find a sack or something we can carry them in. You keep gathering.” He watched as his brother turned and headed back toward the bushes before he went back to their camp. It didn't take long to find an empty sack and return to the patch of berries. “You expect me to climb in there?” He asked as he peered into the tangled mass at his brother who was covered in at least a half dozen more scratches on his arm and face.

“There are plenty out there.” Calenhad gave a small hiss no doubt snagging on another thorn.

Carver shook his head again and began plucking the ripened fruit off the bushes. “Are you sure it's worth all the trouble?”

“Of course it is! It's better then stale bread anyway. And if we find more on the way home we can bring some to Aveline and Gamlen.”

“And mother.” Carver said absently then instantly regretted it as he heard the sudden stillness inside the bushes.

Calenhad's hesitation was brief, but tangible. “Of course,” Cal's voice was cheerful enough to have fooled most people who didn't know him. “We can't forget about mother.”

“No, no we can't.” Carver agreed too quiet for Cal to hear as he continued to pluck berries and watched his brother crawl through the tangle of branches. He couldn't help but smile each time he heard his brother hiss or mumble something under his breath when a thorn snagged his skin or hair. Moments like this Calenhad almost seemed more the child then a man five years his senior. Even he had a hard time wrapping his mind around that fact sometimes, that and the potential danger that lurked just below a mask of near child-like innocence. The Maker did have a sense of humor, but sometimes.....Carver shook his head as he dropped his handful of berries in to the sack and smiled. Sometimes it all worked out just fine.

..~~..~~

“You want us to do _WHAT?_ ” In a tone to match his very annoyed, very unamused look. 

“All I am asking is that you allow Merrill to follow you upon your return to Kirkwall.” Marethari repeated slowly. 

Carver sighed heavily as he rubbed his fingers against his forehead. They had reached the Dalish well before mid-day, a bit earlier then planned thanks to the berries Calenhad had tucked away at an almost alarming rate. They apparently had more natural sugar then he had first thought which translated into an extremely exuberant mage. 

“Look keeper, we promised to bring the amulet, and we even promised we would carry out whatever task you needed. But taking one of your mages back with us.....” He sighed again as he glanced over at his brother and the mabari playing a fair distance away. “We did not agree to harbor your castaways.” He turned his gaze back to the keeper. 

“I understand, I just ask you take her to the city. Once there she will no longer be your burden. Do this as a favor to the Dalish and we shall be in your debt.”

Carver sighed and rubbed his forehead roughly with the palm of his hand. “Very well, we will lead her to the city but that is it. We do not have the means or room to house her. Calenhad come here!” Carver called and watched as both dog and man wandered over with equally merry looks on their faces.

“I would never ask you to carry the burden of yet another mage. I thank you.” she said as she turned waving a small elven girl dressed in green over. “This is Merrill, she will journey with you to the alter. It is only about two hours time through the mountain.”

“Hi, I'm Merrill. Oh but I suppose you already know that because Keeper said it.” She blushed brightly as she looked from one man to the other. “I don't suppose... I mean is it impolite to ask a human their name? I've only ever actually met one human. A warden that came through our camp in Ferelden. He wasn't exactly what I expected from humans, I don't want to be rude or...”

“Merrill.” Marethari said softly as she placed one hand on the young woman's shoulder before turning and returning to her land boat.

“Oh, sorry. I'm rambling again.” She snapped her mouth shut with an audible click of the teeth and both her and Carver turned when they heard a small snorting noise coming from behind the warrior.

“Did I umm say something funny?” Merrill asked as she rolled her hands together nervously, staring at the smaller of the two men. She noticed the stained colored fingers and purple lips and smiled. “Oh! You ate the black sugar berries! I did that when we first came here. Keeper said I had way too many and I was getting far too hyper. She said it was the sugar in the berries that did it and forbade me from eating anymore ever again. I wonder why though, sugar is not poisonous. It wasn't like I would get hurt or die from eating them.” She said thoughtfully as Calenhad fought desperately to keep from laughing.

Carver let out a loud groan as he turned toward the path up toward the caves. He could tell this was going to be a very long two hour trip, four if you counted the trip back. “Let's get this done and over with, I do not want to be stuck in the caves when the sun drops.” He grumbled. Then glanced over at his dog who decided to take up his place beside the mages. Traitor.

Calenhad and Merrill exchanged looks, grinned to each other, then followed the less then amused warrior.

“So, the keeper said you were a mage?”

“All keepers know a bit of old magic.” She answered then quickly added “Well, I am not a keeper or anything! I was going to be, but not anymore.”

“What kind of old magic?”

“Well I suppose you could call it... wood magic? Ancient Elvhenan spells. I can call up roots hidden beneath the ground to tangle up peoples feet. I also know some very old magic, as well as... well I suppose you'd call it chaos and decay. Not like anything wicked... more like... well... swamp... magic. Oh, I'm not quite sure what you shems call it. And I can heal but not very well.”

“I can heal too.”

“Oh you are a mage?”

“Yes.”

“What kind of magic do you use?”

“Healing, as I've said. Frost and protective spells otherwise. Barriers.” He said as he kicked a rock turning his head from the other mage. If she noticed he wasn't telling the whole truth, she didn't say.

“Is he a mage too?”

“Carver?” Cal looked up at his brother and smiled. “He is a warrior. One of the finest and strongest to come out of Ferelden.” There was a fondness in Calenhad's voice that made Carver's stomach do a nauseating flip. 

“So you are from Ferelden? I guess that would have made sense since you saw Asha'Bellanar.”

“You couldn't tell?” Calenhad said surprised. “Most Marchers can tell just by looking at me that I'm not from here.”

“I'm not a Marcher!” Merrill giggled. “So what part of Ferelden did you come from?”

“We lived in Lothering before coming here. We moved a lot though.”

“Oh that's nice, you got to see a lot of places. We moved a lot too, but mostly only in the Brecillian Forest. Do you like Kirkwall?”

“Not really, it smells horrible and it's dirty and the people are really cruel.”

“Crueler then Fereldens?”

Calenhad's face went ridged for a moment as his hand absently reached up to rub his right eye. “Sometimes.” He said dropping his hand again. “You know they have a chantry there, they hate mages a whole lot more then they did in Ferelden. They aren't very kind to elves either.” He said quickly changing the subject.

“Oh I know better then to cast any magic in front of others. Even in camp Keepers do not cast in front of the clan if it can be helped. So is that your mabari?”

Calenhad smiled as he reached down and patted the dogs massive head. “No he is Carver's. His name is Maferath. He is extremely smart.” Maferath's head swiveled upwards toward the two mages upon hearing his name and barked in agreement.

“Where is yours? I hear all humans in Ferelden have a mabari.”

“Mostly only nobles, they are extremely expensive dogs. Ash warriors too, they breed their own though. Carver is an exception.” Calenhad lowered his voice and leaned toward the elf. “Maferath's imprinting was an accident. Carver was drunk but since it is the mabari who chooses their master they had no choice but to let Carver keep him.” He straightened up again, voice returning to it's normal tone. “Besides if anyone deserves a mabari, it is Carver.”

“Well it is very nice to meet you Maferath.” Merrill said as she reached around Calenhad and gently patted the dog's head. She jumped back and squealed delightfully in Cal's ear when Maferath answered her back with a happy _whoof_ sound.

“Where are your oxen?” 

“My...what?”

“Your oxen, the animals that pulled your land boats.”

“Oh we didn't use Oxen, we used halla. They all died though.” Merrill said sadly.

“Oh that is terrible, how did it happen?”

Carver let out a loud sigh forcing himself to drown out the two mages as he pulled the sword from his back and entered the cave. Maker's blood he never knew his brother could come up with so many random questions in a matter of minutes. It was a mixed blessing to be sure, Calenhad was usually too shy and meek to open up to anyone so quickly and it was nice to see his brother smiling and laughing so easily and freely. It was far to rare a thing these days. But the longer he listened the more he wondered if it really was such a good thing. One thing he was sure about was making sure Calenhad never at so many of those berries again. 

They were lucky on the trip up the mountain, the caves were filled with nothing more then large spiders and a few possessed skeletons. The spiders were nothing to be concerned about, they were small compared to the ones in Ferelden, the skeletons however were a bit unusual. It meant the veil was weak up on the mountain, moreso then the surrounding areas anyway. It was a far cry better then killing for the Red Iron though, walking corpses and spiders were always preferable to actual humans who probably didn't do anything more then piss off the wrong person. He was pretty sure Calenhad would have agreed, if he would shut up long enough to notice.

“Maker you two, shut up!” Carver suddenly as they emerged from the cave system onto a gentle slope overlooking the Vimmark Mountain range. It had taken them a bit over two hours to navigate the cave system, and the two mages had talked almost non-stop the entire time. At least they knew the general lay out of the cave system now and it would hopefully take less time to make their way back down. If not Carver was sure his sanity would take leave. Only during battle did the two give their mouths a rest, and only because Carver had yelled at them once already for it. As nice as it was to see his brother making friends, the comparison of Ferelden and Free March footwear could wait until after everything else was dead. 

“Sorry brother.” Calenhad said softly trying, and failing, to hide the amusement that colored his voice.

“Yes, sorry.” Merrill added as she glanced over at her fellow mage.

Carver watched the two mages look from him to each other, the laughter in their eyes contained for only seconds before it erupted from their mouths. As much as he wanted to be annoyed and angry, he couldn't seem to keep up the facade and eventually he added his own laughter to the mix. It was soon cut off however when Maferath suddenly yelped and let out a series of sneezes as he batted at his snout with one paw.

“Oh you poor doggy! Did you hurt yourself?” Merrill said worriedly as she rushed over to Maferath's side.

Calenhad stepped up beside where Carver was stopped and extended his hand. He hissed loudly as his palm came in contact with an invisible field, jerking his hand back and shaking it as if it burned. “It's shielded.” He frowned as he looked at his hand.

“Can you take it down?” 

“OH! I can do that!” Merrill pipped up and stepped forward as the rest of them backed away to give her the room she needed.

The three of them watched as Merrill fumbled with something on the front of her belt then gave a small grunt as she began chanting a spell in a voice to low for the rest of them to hear. Carver gave his own annoyed grunt as he felt Calenhad's fingers snake around his wrist suddenly, nails biting painfully into the tender flesh just below the palm. He looked down and saw a look of horror in Cal's eyes as he began trying to pull the warrior back toward the cave where Maferath had taken up a defensive stance, hackles raised as he snarled in a near rabid fashion.

Carver allowed himself to be pulled back, then frowned as he pulled his arm out of his brother's grip. “What is it?” He asked rubbing his wrist as the sound of a muffled shatter split the air.

“There it is done!” Merrill beamed as she turned around. “We can.... why are you back there?” She asked as she slipped a small bone dagger back into her belt with one hand, the other dripping with blood at her side.

“She performed a summoning Carver.” Calenhad said softly as he glanced over at the mage then back up at his brother. “A demon summoning. She is a Maleficar.”

Carver groaned loudly, rolling his head back and looking up into the nearly cloudless sky. _What else could go wrong._ He asked himself as Maferath took a new position between his master and the elf, teeth bared in warning. “Maker, why do you hate me? Have mercy and just kill me already.” He said out loud then lowered his head. “Maferath, back.” He looked toward the elf as Maferath moved slowly to his side and sighed. “Bloody wonderful, not only did I agree to take an elven mage to the city, but turns out it is an elven BLOOD mage.”

“I know a bit of blood magic, but it's still just magic. Besides the spirit helped us right? And what's...”

“Don't say that! That was no spirit!” Calenhad snapped at her angrily which surprised both Carver and Calenhad more then it surprised the elf. “I know spirits, demons are not spirits.” He said in a softer tone as he seemed to fold in on himself again.

Merrill sighed softly as she wiped her bloody palm on her hip, before remembering to heal it, and turned toward the archway. “The alter is in here, it is an ancient burial ground of the Elvhenan.” She said softly as she led the way with her head bowed.

Carver paused a moment before following, putting a short distance between them. “We can leave her behind you know, we don't have to take her with us.”

“We promised.” 

“Indeed.” He sighed, though technically the promise had been his alone. “Then let us just get this over with.” They followed in silence the rest of the way to the alter fighting off a few more possessed corpses.

“Put the amulet on the alter and I will speak the words.”

Calenhad pulled the amulet off over his head and carefully set it on the stone surface then backed away to stand between his brother and Maferath. They watched as Merrill stepped forward each expecting some kind of blood ritual again, but she only bowed her head as if in prayer and began speaking in what sounded like an elven dialect. As her words tapered off the amulet exploded in a rather familiar golden light. Calenhad rushed the alter even before the light began to take on the recognizable shape of an old grey woman.

“Asha'Bellanar!” Merrill exclaimed and fell to her knees.

“Ask me to teach you dragon form again child, and I will turn you into a small lizard and stomp on you myself.” Flemeth said holding a hand up to the young mage who was now standing in front of her mouth open.

Calenhad opened and closed his mouth a couple times as if trying to swallow whatever it was he wanted to say before he actually spoke. “How did you know what I was going to ask?”

“You didn't stop asking the entire trip to Gwaren, I doubt much has changed.”

“I didn't say a word about it the whole trip.” It was mostly true. He had not spoken the question, but eyes can say a lot about what a person is thinking.

Flemeth smirked as she stared at the boy. “Not with your mouth you didn't.” She laughed at the twisted face Calenhad made before she turned her gaze on the elf. “Stand girl, you people are far to quick to bow.”

“I thank you two, you have fulfilled your end of the bargain. Honesty is a rare trait in men these days.”

“So we did as you asked....” Calenhad started then bit his lip when she turned her gaze on him again, one ash colored eyebrow raising.

Flemeth tilted her head to one side and reached out taking Calenhad's chin in icy fingers. She tilted his head upwards. “Why do you want this power so much child?” She asked watching his response with a rather judgmental look. “Is the power you wield not enough, do you desire to be as powerful as the Tevinters of old?”

Calenhad shuddered, his face twisting in an odd fashion at the icy touch. “No of course not. I just... I want the power to protect what is left of my family. I failed them before and I can't fail them again.” He said in a voice just loud enough for her to hear.

Flemeth smirked as she gauged his response. “But your brother does a fine job protecting and caring for your family does he not?” Her eyes flicked up toward the man standing a few feet away watching her with a threatening glare. She only smirked at him before turning her gaze back on the mage.

Calenhad tried to drop his face but when Flemeth refused to let go, he settled on dropping just his gaze. “He shouldn't have to. I am the eldest and it should be my burden not his.” He mumbled before his eyes flicked back up to meet hers.

“Such deep concern for your brother's well being.” her voice was low and her eyes were all too knowing which made Calenhad turn a deep shade of crimson. “Do not think I am blinded to the truth young man.” She snorted as she dropped her hand away from Cal's face. “Do not be so quick to assume you know others hearts either. Sometimes what you see is only to hide what is beneath. You of all men should know that.” She tossed her head back and laughed.

“So you will teach me nothing.” A statement not a question.

“You are already very powerful child. If only you could see past your own fears and doubts. Do not keep hiding behind the veil, you can survive this side just as easily. I do thank you however for your assistance. Knowing that you have saved my life is a fair trade for saving yours, don't you think? I will however let you keep this.” She held out a small pouch of coins and the amulet which, now empty, still held some magical properties. Calenhad took them with a small thank you as he looped the amulet back over his head.

“I must be off, I have an appointment, you have my thanks. And my sympathy.” She snorted as she turned away her body once again taking on the bright glow of her shape changing spell.

Calenhad stepped back and shielded his eyes from the sudden light. When he looked again Flemeth was once again a dragon, closer to her true form then the old woman cal was almost sure. He watched her fly off and disappear somewhere in the Vimmark mountains before sighing and turn away from the alter. He shoved the coin purse into his brother's hand as he past heading back toward the caves. He didn't bother to look back to make sure the others were following.

It was a long three day trip back down the mountain. Merrill spoke often to the brothers though they seemed less and less receptive as time went on. Calenhad had let her help pick berries and healed her when she needed it, but other then that, few words past between them. Even Maferath seemed to be distancing himself from the elf despite her willingness to refrain from using blood magic.

They were only a few hours from the city when Merrill finally broke down and asked. “Why do you hate me now? We were almost friends on the mountain.”

“You deal with demons.” Cal answered softly.

“Demons are just spirits, like Love, or Valor.”

“NO!” Calenhad barked loudly then blushed as he lowered his voice. “they are nothing alike. Don't ever compare you demon to them again.... Ever.” Calenhad dropped his gaze and quickened his step, brushing past his brother and taking the lead as they continued their walk to the city. Not another word was spoken between them until the soft goodbye as they left Merrill in the alienage.

“I don't know about you, but first thing I am going to do is take a bath.” Carver said trying to lighten the mood between them as they walked back to the hovel they called home.

“That sounds like a good plan, Maferath needs one too.” Maferath growled at Calenhad's words causing both brothers to chuckle. “Well it's true, you smell like walking corpses!” Maferath barked happily.

“Where the maker have you two been, you should have been back yesterday! Meeran nearly had a fit when you two didn't show up this morning.” 

“Hello to you too Aveline.” Carver said as he set his sword beside the door.

“Ugh you two smell awful what have you been doing?”

“We found the dalish, summoned an ancient dragon witch in the middle of a haunted elven burial ground. Picked some berries, killed some corpses, fought some spiders. Oh yes and we brought a blood mage back to live in Kirkwall.” Carver answered with an almost bored wave of his arm before sitting down heavily on one of the old wooden stools near the hearth.

“I.. you... what?!” Aveline stumbled over her words . “You brought a Maleficar back to Kirkwall, are you insane?!”

“We found some berries.” Calenhad offered as he shoved a small sack into Aveline's hand. 

Aveline laughed as she ruffled Calenhad's hair. “I'm sorry you are probably tired from walking. Sit down and tell me everything.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shaleene tries her hand at feels and lacks the left over brain power to come up with a chapter name.

Serendipity lay in the protective circle of Carver's body as his fingers carded gently through her hair, rough lips planting soft kisses on the top of her head. Her own tender delicate fingers gently stroked the light dusting of dark curls that trailed down the center of the warriors broad chest as she whispered sweet nothings against his throat. Eventually the young warrior dozed off and Seren couldn't help the smile that crossed her lips as she ran her fingers through his sweat damp hair.

This was how it always was with the young Carver Hawke, when he came seeking her services at the Rose. Carver was always so gentle and loving, treating her with the utmost care and tenderness. Not that she minded the special treatment, it was an all too welcome change from the abusive manhandling she usually suffered at the hands of men like Vanard and Brann. It always made her a bit sad though, the desire she could see buried deep within those tawny eyes of his as he gazed down at her, lost in the dark emerald of her own. There was a need there, a yearning to have another in his arms writhing beneath him. A longing for another's touch against his dark skin as he mumbled incoherently against her throat. Someone who belonged to a name she could never quite catch hidden within his breathless groans. After, he would lay there quietly caressing and kissing her, eyes wet and lost in untold thoughts until he fell asleep in her arms. It was all very tragic, the young man running into the arms of whores to bury some forbidden desire or deep seeded guilt. She was fairly certain it was a fair mixture of both.

Carver gave a small annoyed grunt and rolled onto his back as Seren gently pushed his arm away and slipped silently from the bed. She smiled at the snoring boy before making her way to the vanity in the corner of the room. Carver would sleep soundly for about an hour lost in the fade where he could be with the one he desired. She however was never keen on sleeping beside her clients no matter how gentle or loving they seemed to be. She had learned early how hazardous such things could be, but she wouldn't leave either. Being beside him as he opened his eyes was part of their time together. When she had inquired about it once, he had told her he took comfort in seeing the color green as he woke but would offer no more of an explanation then that. Not that he needed to.

Once in awhile she spoke to Jethann about the young man and the way he acted. Jethann was the only other whore Carver would frequent besides herself and she found his meetings with the two elves were very different. When he was with Jethann it was far more wild and unabated, ending with a few good natured barbs and a playful slap on the ass as the warrior left the Rose. It seemed more a way for the boy to unwind, a few drinks and a tumble in the sheets to forget for a few hours that he was nothing more then a Ferelden refugee and Red Iron thug. With Serendipity he seemed to be trying to find a replacement for whomever it was he truly wished for. To have something that reminded him just enough of what he couldn't, or wouldn't have. The only similarity between the two encounters was the amount of care he took to never harm or disrespect them. He was a good kid if a bit on the tragic side.

Serendipity finished her routine and slipped carefully back into bed beside the sleeping warrior, resting her head carefully on his shoulder and ran her fingers lightly down the center of the young man's forehead and over the bridge of his nose. Carver mumbled something as his head turned to the side and his eyes fluttered open and their gaze met. He stared lovingly into her eyes for a moment, lost somewhere between the fade and the real world, rolling on his side and wrapping his arms lazily around her for a moment. His lips curled in a warm sad smile as he leaned forward and gently kissed the elf's soft lips before giving a tired sigh and slipping out of bed. Serendipity helped Carver dress silently. As she smoothed out the front of his tunic, he gently brushed a thumb across her cheek and pressed one final kiss to her lips.

Carver grabbed his sword from behind the door as he left, shoulders slumped and his mind a torrent of guilt and regret. Guilt of running to the arms of a whore more and more often, and the regret of not being able to admit what his heart truly wanted to whom he wanted. It had gotten worse since the letters. When their mother had sent them into the old Amell estate to find their grandfather's will, Calenhad had found a couple letters between Leandra and Malcolm that had laid mention to another mage in the gallows. Carver had found out later that Calenhad had managed to persuade Aveline to go and speak with the mage, and had returned with a rather large stack of letters between their father and a Templar named Maurevar Carver. His namesake. A stack of letters Calenhad had given him as some sort of odd gift. It was a rather sweet and endearing gesture actually.

He had read the letters dozens of times since then and had learned a great deal about his father and the Templar who had eventually helped him escape Kirkwall. He felt an odd sort of kinship with the other warrior. There was a warmth in the man's writing that could easily be passed off as friendly and caring. But to one who read deeper, as Carver had, it spoke of more. A secret desire that could never be spoken or acted upon. Maurevar had loved Malcolm, heart and soul but he was a Templar, and Malcolm a mage. He often wondered if Maurevar died regretting never telling Malcolm how he had felt, even if those feelings would never be returned. Or perhaps he died knowing he had made the right choice, understanding that sometimes things like that are better left hidden deep within the shadows of your heart.

Carver thought of his own predicament, so like Maurevar's yet so different. He had his own secrets, his own unspoken love, one he swore never to utter aloud. But now he felt torn. Seeing the pain and sadness in those letters made him reflect on his own situation. Reflect on the guilt he felt each time he ran to the Rose, regret of every sleepless night he lay awake listening to the soft snores of his brother as his mind wandered to places it ought not be.

He let out another loud and frustrated grunt as he descended the stairs into Lowtown. Going home was not an option right now so he opted for the Hanged man, a dirty little place in the heart of Lowtown that smelled of bad liquor and piss. There was a self-proclaimed pirate captain that recently ran aground in the marches. She had many stories of the the Ferelden Wardens, some of them heroic, some a bit more intimate. He had to laugh at her when she told him about the nights she spent with the senior warden and his lover, but after getting to know her better and the detailed descriptions of the mens body tattoos he found he could almost believe it.

..~~

Calenhad had taken to sitting against the wall near the stairs leading to the docks during his off hours, watching the people come and go. It wasn't the most productive of past times, probably not the most exciting either, but it was this or sit at home with Gamlen and mother. It had been nine months since that day yet his mother still would not let him forget his failures as a protector and brother, not that he could ever forget. He was reminded every day and night as he looked at his brother's face, his thoughts dwelled on it when he had nothing to do but sit here and watch the Kirkwall residence returning home from work, or in many cases taking their measly pay to the hanged man to waste on foul smelling whiskey and week old bread. He had gone to the Hanged Man once for Meeran, after a few minutes in that place and a couple rather unsavory glances his way he swore he wouldn't ever go there again. At least not alone.

He wondered if Carver was there now, at the hanged man drinking away his day's pay. He seemed to be going there more often lately, or so he assumed. His younger brother had been disappearing more often and would come home smelling of cheap ale, whiskey and smoke. He often wondered about the reasons behind the behavior, if it was his fault somehow earning his brothers ire. He wondered if Carver finally gave in to believing their mother, blaming Calenhad for his twin sister's death. Or maybe it was something far more simple, he had found a girl and was spending his nights with her, or off at the Rose where Gamlen wasted all the money he didn't lose gambling.

It was all moot really, what he hated most about it all was being stuck at home without a buffer between him and his mother. Gamlen he could stomach, the man wasn't so bad once you got past the piss and vinegar. He was a bit of an ass, stealing his sister's money, losing the family estate to slavers, gambling and flitting his money away on whores and booze. But at least he wasn't like his mother, constantly on everyone’s back about things they may regret but can do nothing to change, although he had to admit he was a bit grateful that now his mother had something else to complain about. Splitting her anger between him and Gamlen gave Cal a few almost peaceful nights.

Both Gamlen and Carver were out tonight though, and Aveline was working. There was no one to take the heat off of him and his mother was in a particularly foul mood today. That usually meant her words would be particularly venomous as she threatened him with the Gallows again. He was pretty sure she wouldn't turn him in if for no other reason then Carver refused to do so. Despite all her bitching he was still head of the household and usually had last say in matters of the Hawkes. But there was always that small chance their mother would do something drastic and so Cal thought it better to stay away. Better safe then sorry their father had always said.

Calenhad grunted softly as he pressed the heel of his hand against his right eye, he could feel one of those headaches coming on. Thanks to Dar's inked needle, or maybe he was to blame since he was the one who flinched, he was now partially blind in the one eye. The small red dot in the white of his eye a bonus reminder to never get on Meeran's bad side again. He didn't actually need his vision to live, no mage did, but after twenty four years living with blurred vision was not an easy thing to get used to. He couldn't read for hours on end anymore or spent too long trying to focus clearly or he would end up with rather painful headaches. Carver had learned of this about a week or so after and ended up giving Dar a black eye and a split lip. Calenhad had laughed.... in his mind anyway.

He sighed again as he pushed himself to his feet, knees popping from sitting in one position for too long. He dusted himself off and began slowly wandering down the road toward the alienage. He had been avoiding that part of Lowtown for near two months now, or rather avoiding the blood mage speaking with demons and stalking the streets down that way. But now Calenhad had found he was rather lonely, Meeran kept him rather busy, but never at the same time as his brother or Aveline. When Carver and Calenhad did have the same time off Carver was never around, off doing whatever it was he did that brought him home at odd hours of the night. The fade hadn't been the same since Bethany was gone either. The kingdom had been restored to it's former glory, and he even recreated Bethany from all the memories he and the fade held of her. But it would never be the same, she was a memory, she would never age and her personality would never develop past the age of eighteen.

Calenhad stood for a long time staring at the door, old wood warped and splintered, rotting slowly from the elements. The leather hinges were worse, a few of the mails were missing and the leather itself looked as if it would fall apart soon. Calenhad kicked a small rock that lay beside his left foot and watched it disappear into the shadows and thump against a hard surface. Something else scurried unseen away from the noise and headed further into the corner. Calenhad blanched at the thought of what it could be and finally decided it was in his best interest to stop being a scaredy pup and knock on the door.

He stared at the small knothole in the door just barely below eye level, shifting nervously from one foot to the other as he waited. Soon he heard the quiet tapping on the other side of the door, more leather bands that were holding the door closed no doubt. At least Gamlen had the good sense to get metal bolts for his door before he pissed away the rest of his father's money. After what seemed like an eternity the door finally opened bathing him in yellow candlelight.

“Calenhad? Oh, hey.” She looked warily at the man standing before her. “I wasn't expecting you.” She added as she fumbled with the door handle, weather from nerves or annoyance it was hard to tell. She shifted from one foot to the other as her eyes glanced from Calenhad's face to somewhere behind him.

“Uh, yeah.” Calenhad mumbled softly. He noticed Merril had changed from her Dalish-y looking clothes to something more common for the elves of the city, though her tattoos gave her away. And the almost creepy way her eyes glowed in the dark, like a cat stalking the allies of lowtown.

“So, I wasn't expecting you.” She repeated, her eyes darting over his shoulder again, as if expecting to see someone jump from the shadows. His brother perhaps, or worse a Templar they finally brought down to take care of the blood elf living in the alienage.

“Uh, yeah. Hi... Merril.” Calenhad said softly as he forced himself to stop his nervous shuffling. “I umm... Well I was just... I thought that...... I mean I was walking...” He cleared his throat. “I thought I might come and check up on you. See how you were settling in?” He couldn't quite bring himself to look her in the eye.

“Oh... I'm fine.” She said in a slightly amused voice, watching as the man tried so hard to keep from bolting.

The tow of them stood there for a long time, Calenhad's eyes flicking from Merrill's door, to the door frame, to the wall on the other side of her house, then back again. Merrill on the other hand kept looking behind him still half expecting something or someone to jump out and take her.

“You uh, changed your hair.” Calenhad finally said.

“Yeah, thought I Would try something new.” She ran her fingers through her hair. She wore it down this time, and longer then it had looked in those weird knots scattered across her head.

“It's... better.”  
  
Merrill chuckled slightly. “Thanks.” She looked away as her cheeks turned a slight shade of pink.

“So umm...” Calenhad shifted uncomfortably again. “Can I come in?”

“What? OH! Yeah, yeah sure.” She moved to the side with a smile. “Come on in. Sorry for the mess, I wasn't expecting any company.” She mumbled as she let Calenhad step in, and closed the door behind him.

Calenhad looked around the interior, he didn't' think houses in Low Town could get any smaller, or uglier then the two bedroom hovel he shared with his family, three if you counted the crawlspace in the living room ceiling Aveline used as her own little bedding area. But this place had only one tiny bedroom with an even smaller closet, and the living area shared space with the small wood burning stove and round table. She had minimal possessions as well, three chairs, a bench along the far wall, and a single old cupboard leaning against the wall underneath a small shelf with only a few dishes. The place smelled of rotting wood and dead flesh, rats or cats lodged behind the walls if he had to guess. Gamlen's place suddenly seemed a lot less shitty.

“Nice... place.” He said softly as he moved across the room to sit in the cleanest of the three chairs at the table. He glanced at the book open on the table, the old pages covered in elven text he couldn't read.

“You are kind to say so. You get used to it after awhile I suppose” She said as she shut the book and moved it into her room. “Do umm, you want a drink or something? I have...... Water?” She looked apologetically at him. “It's still warm, I had to boil it.”

“Sure. No blood magic right?” He asked and then immediately regretted it, looking away in embarrassment.

Merrill chuckled as she grabbed two old, chipped earthen cups from the cupboard to fill from the large pot on the stove. “No blood magic, just fire and wood. Well I lit the wood with magic, but I didn't need to open my wrist to do it.” She set one mug in front of Calenhad and sat down across from him with the other.

Calenhad wrapped both hands around the mug and pulled it closer. “Thank you, Merrill.” He said as he sniffed the water. “So you... ok here?” He asked looking up at her as a thin layer of ice formed on the cup under his hand and across the surface of the water.

“I'm ok. It's not exactly what I expected, the place is...... interesting to say the least.” She watched Calenhad's mug for a moment then looked at her own before looking up at him, her eyes asking a question she didn't want to verbalize at risk of sounding rude. She was still getting used to human customs. “I don't think people here like me overly much.”

“Why do you say that?” He asked as he slid his mug toward Merrill, switching it with hers, and watching as her grin stretched across her face this time even reaching her eyes. How even the smallest comforts could be such joy to people, something Calenhad loved to watch.

 

“Thank you!” She took a small sip her grin, if possible, growing even wider. “No one really talks to me.” She finally continued. “I think they know I'm Dalish. The Vallislin gives it away...”  
  
“The what?”  
  
Vallislin. My facial marks. Most flat ears don't seem to like the Dalish.”

“Probably because you call them flat-ears.”

“That... is probably a factor.” She said as if it never dawned on her before. “OH! I did see someone get mugged right outside my door the other day. It was fascinating to witness.”  
  
“Merrill! That's terrible!”  
  
“OH it's not so bad. I do get lost a lot though, the city is so big! It takes hours just to get anywhere.”

“You will get used to it soon enough I am sure.”

“Eventually perhaps. I was just about to make dinner, if you umm... care to join me you are welcome to do so.” She said as she stood moving toward the small shelf in the corner.

“I... would like that Merrill, thank you.” He smiled and stood to help.

 

 

 


	8. Earning Scars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Trigger warning: Implied non-con....**   
>  _This chapter edited by my dear friend Bucklesinthesun over at DevArt. Thank you darlin! Sorry it's so late. Health problems making it hard to write but I will never give up on this story even if sometimes I'm late!_

Carver sighed heavily. His sword leaned beside the door as he released the hilt. The flash of a smile to his brother followed that, despite his efforts, no doubt looked every bit the lie it was. He could almost feel the hopelessness, the dread that was currently etched across his brother's face as he watched Carver close the door between them. He threw the bolt, turning after to face the large oak desk dominating the room.

Faced with the hulking, ugly block with its many stains and scars-- he couldn't help but think of all the places in Kirkwall he had seen while working for the Red Iron. Those hidden places in the darkest corners of the city infested with diseased rats and human shaped bones picked clean by stray dogs. These were places no sane person ventured without reason, and then only under the most dire of need. Carver thought Meeran's office was no doubt the paradigm of such places. That horrible bit of furniture he lounged behind was more akin to a butcher's block than aught else. Just knowing what had been done to Cal on it raised his hackles. Fear and rage boiled in his gut like ink and oil, tempered only by the knowledge that they would soon be free. All Meeran would be forever was a disgusting scab on the underbelly of Kirkwall, oozing and wretched.

Carver stood with his hands folded behind his back. It was not uncommon in Ferelden for a warrior to adopt this pose before his trainer or commander. On one hand it was a gesture of obedience to the mercurial Meeran, on the other a reminder to him that Carver was better educated and trained than his other men. Carver Hawke disdained these vile excuses for humanity, their depraved commander. He was better than this-- and damn the voice in the back of his head that sounded like Leandra. This wasn't about her petty fascination with her own nobility.

The stinking tallow candles in the room gave limited amount of light. The sconces and stands had been placed to keep the light from falling across Meeran's face as he sat in his chair behind his desk. He could not see Meeran's eyes, but he could feel the man's cold gaze on him. It was a tactic Carver knew well and had to hold back a small smile at the futility of such a display each time he found himself in this situation. As intimidating as Meeran could be on any given day, he was nothing compared to the late Malcolm Hawke. He was a master of striking fear in the hearts of his own children. It was these memories, these moments when Malcom was more vessel of power than father, he drew on when he knew he couldn't be the first to move or break the silence that hung thick between them.

“Care to explain?” It was Meeran to speak first. It always was when Carver stood before his employer. 

“We finished the job. Your goods are stacked outside the door.” Carver shrugged one shoulder.

“You killed Coenberg.”

“We did no such thing.”

“Then explain why he lies dead when he should be in this office spilling his guts.”

Carver's mouth twitched with ill-disguised mirth. The urge to mention the fact that Coenberg had already quite literally spilled his guts almost to much to bear. _Didn't you see them Meeran? They splattered across the wall. That big glob on the support beam was probably a chunk of spleen, maybe a liver. Don't get too close though you never know what could be left over from the spell. Those Tevinter mages can be tricky little blighters. May have cursed the bits of skull and brain matter and you don't want to end up spilling your guts as well do you? I certainly wouldn't cry about it._

“Mage fire.” He opted instead.

“Exactly.”

“You know as well as I, Calenhad cannot control fire.” For all his attempts to make it dance, he could still do little but buffet it with bursts of chill air. Their father had promised to teach Calenhad the way of leeching heat from flame as he did from the air. He'd died before he could keep his promise.

“He is a mage, boy. As a mage, my only mage, he is responsible for pacifying any magic users.”

“He did.”

“AFTER Coenberg was killed.”

“We did our job. The shipment was secured.”

“Coenberg is still dead.”

“You're welcome.”

Meeran stood then as he placed both his hands on the top of his desk and leaned forward. “You think this is funny?” He expected no answer, Carver gave none as he stared silently at Meeran's face. Carver had never feared Meeran. He resented, despised, but never feared. Meeran seemed to respect that. “So.” He straightened up and walked around to the other side of the desk to stand in front of the young warrior. “What do you propose we do about this?”

Carver shrugged his left shoulder. Now was the time. Meeran was wound tight, looking for any excuse to blame Calenhad. He could go fuck himself with the business end of his own sword. Jareth would never have his brother. “Give your contractor a refund? Learn necromancy? This is not our problem.” Carver smirked as he looked into Meeran's muddy brown eyes. He didn't have to wait long for the barb to find its mark. 

His fist shot out lightning quick catching Carver across the right side of his face. Before he could recover from the blow, Meeran snatched Carver's hair with his right hand and pulled it downwards. Carver had to twist his body rather uncomfortably to keep a fistful of scalp from tearing free. “Just because you only have a few more months doesn't mean you and your mewling excuse for a brother can fuck things up for me now.” Meeran yanked hard on Carver's hair, moving around the young warrior's body. A hollow thud as his head connected heavily with the wooden surface echoed in Carver's teeth and spine. The young swordsman gritted his teeth. He'd expected violence of some kind, been prepared for it, but he didn't have to like it.

Deep in his soul, cold white hatred lept to life. If he ever had a chance to get even...

Carver hissed in pain. Meeran's hand snaked around his left wrist, pulling his arm up behind his back. The muscles and joints crackled in protest. Still he didn't dare move. The knowledge that his family depended on him almost solely kept him still as death. Meeran leaned forward, pinning Carver between him and the desk. “Someone is going to pay.” He growled just inches from Carver's ear his face close enough that the boy could smell his fetid, days-old sweat.“Calenhad told you what would happen didn't he? You know Jareth has been waiting eagerly for his sweet little ass, all of them have. Sick bunch of bastards. Think that would teach your brother to stop testing my patience? Hmm, boy?.”

Instinct battled his reason with icy claws, cold eyes, fueled by growing hatred. Every moment slowed down, could be observed in tiny detail. Carver growled, shifting under his captor's weight and used his free hand to push against the desk only to be rewarded with red hot pain shooting through his shoulder when Meeran shoved his arm further up his back. He could feel the muscles and joints threatening to tear at the increased strain. His vision was filled with a dull red stain across that ugly wood. “Keep it up boy. I will break it.” Meeran's breath gusted over his face causing him to cringe as he inhaled the familiar scent of Reulthir, a particularly strong whiskey native to Ferelden. Meeran must've paid well to have it imported. Carver was unsure which was the crueler punishment, the whims of his captor or the painful ill-timed reminder of home in the midst of it.

Meeran's right hand pulled harder on Carver's hair forcing the boy move as he desired. “I will never understand what Jareth sees in your brother. He pisses himself when someone raises their voice. Soft bit of fluff not worth wiping my cock on. But you.” At his neck Meeran groaned, pressing his dry lips against his skin. “You wouldn't break so easy.” He let go of the boy's hair suddenly. His head thudded against the desk as Meeran's hand slid down Carver's back and across his hip. A possessive squeeze marked his next heated words. “I will make you a deal. Take your brother's punishment from me. If you don't scream, Calenhad is off the hook.”

“Fuck you, Meeran.” Carver snapped and tried to pull his arm free again as Meeran's fingers found his belt buckle. The older man jerked his arm hard and Carver groaned, barely able to bite back a yell as he both heard and felt the snap when his shoulder was forced from it's socket. Agony bathed his entire left side.

A wide grin spread across Meeran's face as his hips inadvertently bucked against Carver's ass. The sound and feel of the bone slipping out of place sent a rush of heat straight to his dick. “Shame you won't take the deal. How long do you think your brother could manage? I've seen what Jareth is packing. Your big brother would be screaming like a little woman in no time.” Meeran chuckled darkly as he felt Carver's body shudder in fury. Hate rolled off the boy in waves, working only to stoke his appetite.

“I just had a thought.” Meeran mused as his hand worked loose the lacing of Carver's trousers. He could feel Carver trying to pull away again. His fingers ghosted over the lad's cock, the thin layer of his smallclothes between them-- less than a wad rag really. He pressed his hips forward again as Carver stifled a hiss of pain. His shoulder would be a mess come morning. “Who could break your brother faster? Jareth, or someone Calenhad trusted unquestioningly?”

Carver let out a humorless laugh. “You know nothing of mages. Calenhad trusts no one.” 

“I don't have to.” Meeran leaned forward, his lips brushing the foolish boy's ear. “He trusts you.” His ripe whiskey breath caused Carver to flinch against the smell. The lad had never known a real man. Such a child he was yet, though not for much longer. "I'd have to be daft and blind to miss the way your brother tags after you like a big-eyed clumsy pup." He fisted Carver's cock, squeezing over shaft and balls, enjoying the boy's yelp. He bit the boy's ear, then sucked it before continuing. "I don't guess you'd be calling me mad or blind though, right, Hawke?"

"No." Carver forced out through clenched teeth. 

Meeran had to strangle a groan as he felt the young warrior's body go completely still. He had Carver right where he wanted him. "The more I think on this, the better it suits my purpose. I might even join the boys to watch.” Meeran's free hand once again began to wander, sliding beneath Carver's smallclothes and over the swell of the young man's ass. In the tension of those muscles he could feel the fight already returning to the boy. That was good. He wanted Carver to resist. He probably wouldn't be able to break him, not in a single night, but oh he was going to enjoy trying. “Your choice. Whatever you chose, I win."

..~~

Calenhad sat behind a large stack of crates hugging his knees tight against his chest as he tried to focus on Darkspawn. He couldn't remember exactly what they looked like. Mostly it was a smell that dominated his recollection-- a pervasive stench of corruption, filth. The rest was scrabbling, mishapen shadows, horrific flashes of twisted limbs and leering faces. He wanted to compare them to Jareth, who was at this moment trying to coax him from his hiding spot. Jareth stank of filth as well, though nothing as mind-numbing as spawn. Unlike the uncanny, bestial hatred that seemed to motivate those creatures, the mercenary had the brain power of an Orlesian lap dog. A bit unfair to the dogs, he had to admit.

“Come on princess, it's only a matter of time before I get what I want. So you might as well just give it up now. Make it easy for both of us hmm?” Jareth smirked as he reached out and ran a single dirt stained finger over the firebird on Calenhad's cheek. “I'll be good to you. You'll sing for me before we're done.”

“Don't!” Calenhad jerked away from the touch, hissing like a scalded cat. The wall behind him impacted with his skull as he threw himself against it. Pain blossomed across the back of his head. It had not been his finest moment, getting himself cornered. Seeing as how the day was going though, it seemed oddly fitting.

“Meeran said leave 'im till he say otherwise.” Dar glanced over at the hunched over man as he shuffled an ragged deck of cards. “I suggest ya, leave 'im be.”

Jareth laughed, displaying his rotted stumps of teeth. Foul breath wafted into Calenhad's face causing the mage to gag in response. “I ain't doing nothing' to him yet. I just trying to strike a truce, ain't that right princess. Come on out now and I will go easy on ya. I promise. Ain't all screaming. There'd be pleasure in it for you if you come out now.”

“I can'na wait till that mage turns yer dumbass int' a huge iceball.”

“He wouldn't do that to me, would you princess? We both know he wants it as bad as I do.” Jareth reached out again and grabbed the mage's right hand in an attempt to pull him out from behind the crates. Calenhad's fingers flashed a sudden, deep blue causing a sheet of ice to form at the juncture of their flesh. Jareth pulled his hand back with a yelp as he bolted to his feet. “You misbegotten little shit!” Jareth yelled. His frozen hand crackled as he tried the joints, sending small pieces of ice flying when he shook it.

Dar leaned back on his chair and let loose a gale of laughter. The fat old man nearly spilled himself onto the floor. “How many times ya gonna let that lil brat ice yer hand a'fore ya learn?”

“Fuck you, Dar.” Jareth began pacing back and forth rubbing his cold fingers as he grunted and huffed like a wounded ox.

Calenhad sat cradling his own hand in his lap trying to hide the pain as he warmed the now gray numb fingers. It hurt like the void having to ice his own hand, but it was a small price to pay considering the alternative. It didn't take long for Jareth to recover and return to trying to coax him out from behind the crates. At least this time he seemed a bit more cautious about reaching for the mage.

“Maker, I hate this job.” A door opened and slammed against the wall causing it to shudder from the force. 

“Yer back early Av'lin.” Dar snorted as he looked up from his cards. “Come play a game.” He offered as he held up the deck of cards.

“Job's done. Who cares how long it took me. Aren't you suppose to be crawling into some hole somewhere?” She said dropping a heavily loaded bag onto the table with a sigh.

Dar's grey eyes twinkled visibly as he turned up his face toward her. “Ya offerin'? Lass, if'n ye are, I swear I'd climb those long legs of yers without any poken er prodden at all.” He winked. “Best treasure is the hardest to get to.”

“Not if you were the last man on Thedas and my life and the human race depended on it. I will however happily remove your head from your shoulders. Free of charge.”

“Always th' charmer, Avy baby.” He snorted and went back to his own game of crown, heart and anchor. There was no reason to even look at the cards. It was the only deck the man possessed.

“Where are the Hawke brothers?”

“Carver's in wit' th' boss and th' mage...” Dar tilted his head toward Jareth without looking up from the table.

Aveline turned and saw Jareth kneeling on the floor staring at something behind the large stack of crates. Without much thought she rushed over. A handful of the man's greasy hair twisted just so made him stand up violently. He jerked backwards and away from the opening with a pull. 

“You dog-humping bitch!” Jareth yelled as he fell backwards landing hard on his ass. “You are going to pay for that!” He made to charge the woman only to be stopped dead in his tracks. The tip of her blade had come up to meet him. “You really think that little pig-sticker of yours will stop me?” 

“Touch him again and nothing Meeran says will stop me from spilling your guts all over this courtyard.” Her eyes narrowed.

“You really think you scare me? I will kill you, you barbarian slut!” His fists twitched at his side as he stared at the tip of the hovering blade that marked his vitals with unerring focus, missing the amused twitch of Aveline's mouth at the insult.

Aveline was about to say something else when Meeran's door swung open. The bang of wood impacting with stone caused four sets of eyes to shift. “Aveline. Good you're here.” Meeran, as usual didn't care a bit that his men were in the middle of a disagreement. So long as no one valuable died and business wasn't interrupted, the arguments of the rest of his company didn't matter.“Take that idiot mage home. Carver and I have some business to attend to.” He began to shut the door then looked over at the unfortunate villain held at sword point. “And Jareth stay the fuck away from him before I castrate you. Maker knows since you laid eyes on the boy you haven't thought with anything but your cock.” He slammed the door shut before anyone had a chance to reply.

Aveline smirked as she slowly sheathed her sword with one hand, the other waving Calenhad out of his hiding spot. Calenhad jumped up and bolted for her side. Jareth's hand shot out for one last touch but only caught the tips of the mage's hair. Aveline glared at him. She followed the terrified mage into the night, a look of worry crossing her face once there was shadow enough to hide it.

“Is Carver going to be all right, you think? Meeran wouldn't blame him for what I did... would he?”

Aveline had never really believed in giving false hope. There was no real answer for him. Instead of lies to soothe his spirit, she wrapped an arm around his shoulder. It could be a trick of her imagination but she thought she heard a horrified gasp. They walked the rest of the way home, silence only broken by the evening sounds of the city preparing for the veil of night to fall.

..~~..

Carver stood outside the door for what seemed like an eternity before he finally pushed the door open with his good shoulder. The low burning fire gave off just enough light for him to see Aveline's profile. The muscular woman was asleep in one of the chairs, pulled up and half her size but still formidable even in sleep. He dropped his sword on the floor beside the door waking her and sat carefully in the only unoccupied chair.

“Maker.” Aveline sat up, scrubbing at her hair after an itch. She rubbed her eyes before turning her gaze on the wary boy. “I thought I would have to come rescue you, lad. Are you alright?” 

Carver's response was automatic, without feeling. “I'm fine. But I need your help with the shoulder.” 

“If I didn't know Meeran, I'd be dumb enough to ask how this happened.” Aveline moved from her seat and stood behind him. Her strong fingers digging into the muscle as she assessed the damage for herself. “Relax. Was it bad?”

“Nothing I couldn't handle.” He grunted in pain. Forcing himself to relax his arm and allow Aveline to move it as she needed was torture.

“You sure? I can get your brother if you need him.” 

“Don't worry about it, it's..” He cut himself off barely, managing to stop a yell from escaping as Aveline popped his shoulder back into place. Not even on the ship had his stomach tossed so much. Had he anything in it, the lot would have decorated the floor by now. His uninjured hand rubbed the sore shoulder as he cradled his arm. “...Thanks.”

“Well if that is all, and you aren't going to talk, I think I should turn in. And I think you should do the same.” Her voice was full of concern but she seemed content on letting him hold his own council. 

“I've already got a Mother, Aveline. I don't need two.” He said in a sardonic tone as he stood. There was nothing more to be done or said. The aches in his spirit would never truly leave, even though time would take them from his body. Hate left deep scars. Carver headed for the room he shared with his brother. Vague sounds of small bare feet across the floor and the flutter of blankets alerted him to Cal's eavesdropping as he approached. His brother pretended sleep at his entry, and he was glad. Carver quietly shut the door behind him.

Carver sat on the edge of his own cot, listening to it creak and complain as it took his weight. His rump burned as badly as his wounded pride. He buried his face in his hands with a tired shaky sigh. Closed eyes only brought back images of Meeran's face, his cock, his laughter. He forced himself to stare at the floor instead. There was the loose board under his foot. He and Cal had pulled it up when they first moved in to hide the staves they brought from Ferelden. His sister's stave was under there, scorched and blackened from her hands as she cast. Calenhad's stave was more ornate and a bit older. Their father had cast it himself.

Carver almost, almost smiled at the thought. It was slightly unfortunate for Calenhad. If it weren't bad enough they had to live with their mother, carrying around a staff with her naked golden form decorated in tiny gems was just....

He hadn't noticed his brother moving in the room until he felt a small hand fall on his shoulder. The warm soothing glow of healing magic rush through him like a rain-dewed summer breeze. He knew who it was, aye he knew, before his shame had him jumping up and away from the touch. “Damn it Calenhad! Don't sneak up on me like that!” His snarl was turned away, curled around itself as he couldn't bear to look at his brother. Carver rubbed his shoulder which still cried abuse, but in a much softer voice. “What are you doing up? Good mages should be asleep.”

Calenhad laughed once, lightly. Their father had often used that phrase when he caught Beth and Cal prowling around the farm under the cover of darkness. “I couldn't sleep. Too much to think about.” Carver shied away from the hand that tried to touch a bruise on his face.. “He hurt you.”

“Meeran needed a punching bag after that mess is all. I got worse in the King's army during furlough. Go to sleep.” He soothed as he eased himself down on the edge of his bed to remove his boots.

“I felt your pain. Let me...” 

“I said I'm fine, Cal.” He snapped as he turned to slap away the hand that reached for him again. He watched as his brother's face turned from concern to hurt at his rejection. “Go back to bed. Now.” Carver turned his gaze back to the buckles on his boots. It was impossible not to see or hear as his brother returned to his own cot. Pulling at the straps again forced his hurts against fabric and leather. He clasped his shoulder, hissing silently as the rough wool of his tunic rubbed against the bite mark hidden beneath.

Across the room his brother shifted, trying to get comfortable with a small, irritated huff.

Normalcy was more than he could bear. Calenhad did not belong in the memories he would attempt to escape in sleep. A feeling of wrongness clasped at his heart, squeezed. That ache was enough to send Carver out into the night once again. He would try his damnedest to distance himself from everything but the muzzy blankness brought on by many mugs of ale. The Hanged Man would still be open, it was always open, and in a couple hours the bathhouses would open. There he could soak away the pain in his bones and wash the filth from his skin. The bath would sober him up enough and he would seek out Elegant. Two things she was good at; salves and keeping her mouth shut. She would have something to help heal the bites, nail marks and help with the stabbing aches in his body. Best to get at it quickly too. Some idle dunderhead was bound to guess something once they saw the way he sat. Lips started flapping all too quickly around the company if even the littlest thing were amiss. Ruddy bastards were worse than old women.


	9. Hello My Brother

_To say Calenhad hadn't been the least bit surprised by the warmth and welcome of the place would have been a down right lie. What he had expected was a dank vile little place tucked away in one of the dark corners of the city. A place filled with mercenaries and dock workers all fawning over equally vile men and women parading across poorly weaved rush flooring, or dancing in the oily light cast from muddy glass lanterns. He had expected a place like The Sleazy Nug back in Highever, a dwarven run whore house that stank of ass and cheap booze. It had been his only encounter with such a place and though he had spent less then five minutes inside, it had made a lasting impression. When he returned home, six year old Carver and Bethany followed him around for the next three hours probing him with questions and trying to see how long it would take before they could make him vomit from the mere memory of the place._

_Apparently Bethany won._

_In truth the Blooming Rose was quite lovely, for anyone who enjoyed such places. For one the place was extremely well lit, candelabras and lanterns leaving no corner dark. All the tables and chairs were clean and well cared for. The floors were made of stone tiles and dotted with exotic looking carpets, faux silk and satin cloth hanging from the walls and banisters. Even the whores seemed happy here, their eyes were not so dull and clouded from hopelessness and drugs. Their flesh was unmarred from years of misuse and they weren't forced to walk around completely exposed to their clientele. It also didn't seem like just a whore house, several men and women were sitting at the bar drinking seemingly oblivious to the goings on in the rest of the tap-room, content to ignore and be ignored as they drank away their silvers._

_“Have you ever been in a place like this little man?” Isabela asked, interrupting. She reached over and ruffled his hair, more nails then flesh scraping across his scalp._

_Calenhad shuddered away from her touch. At least she didn't call him Cal-cal...yet. “No.” He answered softly as he pushed his own fingers through his hair. It hadn't been a lie, not really. The Sleazy Nug was nothing compared to the Rose._

_They didn't stay long in the tap room. Carver had quickly lead them up the left staircase and down the hall, last room on their left. He seemed to know exactly where he was going and who he was looking for. The door was open when they arrived, an elf sat cross legged on the bed reading a well loved leather bound book. Calenhad couldn't catch the title before the elf lowered it, his big blue eyes lighting up as they fell on Carver._

_“My dear Carver Hawke.” The book suddenly forgotten as the elf moved with both grace and speed to stand before the warrior. “Well well, isn't this a pleasant surprise. You_ know _today is my rest day, but I am sure I could make an exception just for you.” Long slender fingers wrapped themselves around the leather leash holding Carver's tunic closed._

_“Oooohh Carver, you know Jethann? Oh this is good! I want details, does he do that....”_

_“Not pleasure I'm afraid, Jethann.” He said quickly cutting off Izzy's words turning an icy glare on the woman before looking back at the ginger haired elf. “I am here on business. I have been charged with finding the De Carrac woman.”_

_“A shame really. And yes Isabela, I do do.... That.” Jethann smirked as his hand slid down Carver's chest and stomach, fingers tracing the hidden lines of him by memory alone. His eyes flicked around the warrior, his gaze falling directly on Calenhad, catching a brief glimpse of contempt and resentment on the man's face before he could hide it. “Are you going to introduce me to the rest of your little gang?”_

_Carver turned toward his brother who was standing still half in and half out of the door. His emerald eyes flicking from elf, to brother, to the hand resting just above the waist of his brother's trousers. The expression on his face stung Carver.“This is my elder brother, Calenhad.”_

_“A pleasure to meet you Calenhad.” He purred as he stared at the other man, an odd smirk crossing his lips. “Such beautiful eyes.” Jethann tilted his head back and looked up at Carver, that same little smirk on his lips. “Serendipity was asking after you the other day. A shame she is with a client now, she would_ love _to meet the family.”_

_Carver felt so uncomfortable he was sure his shame was written on his face. He finally grabbed Jethann's wandering hand and pulled it away from his tunic. He didn't seem too eager to let the hand go once it was in his own as he turned toward Isabela. “Izzy, why don't you two go wait in the hall, or go get a drink or something. I need to talk to Jethann about Ninnette.”_

_“Tsk. But I want to watch!”_

_Carver let go of Jethann and turned to all but shoved the two out the door. “Nothing to watch just.... wait outside or...whatever.” He said and quickly shut the door between them._

_Calenhad watched the door shut and stood for a long moment staring at the worn wood as if it might melt away if he glared at it hard enough. The words on the other side were too muffled to understand, but he didn't need to hear what was going on to know one thing. The Blooming Rose was by far the worst whore house he had ever been in._

_..~~_

Calenhad had been so preoccupied with his own thoughts, he hadn't been aware of the goings on around him until a large hand fell brick-like on his right shoulder. His eyes flew open as he flinched away from the touch instinctively. The first thought that crossed his mind as he caught sight of the red and black hem beside him was how painful his death would be. The sword of a Templar was quick, but the sudden stillness of his heart, which at the moment forgot how to pump blood to the rest of his body, might kill him before the Templar had his chance. It took several terrifying seconds to realize that the pattern on the skirt was not only wrong, but the man unarmored. He quickly scrambled to his feet, his mind yards ahead of his body already planning out an excuse. A sick mother at home worked well in Lothering, Likely it would work here as well. Particularly if this Chantry brother knew Leandra at all.

“Peace be on ye, brother Calenhad.” The form took a large step back giving the mage his space. “I apologize if I interrupted yer prayers. Ye've been here sae long, I was afraid ye'd drifted off.”

Calenhad recognized the heavy accent almost immediately, though it had taken him another moment to place it with the face that was looking down at him. It was a face he usually associated with armor that was once brilliant white and gold, now nothing more then faded grey and tarnished yellow. “Hello Sebastian.” He mumbled as he glanced down at the man's robes again. He couldn't help the small twitch at the corner of his mouth and the relief he felt at the lack of Andraste staring up at him from the man's crotch. “You didn't... I wasn't actually praying.” He admitted as he smoothed out the wrinkles in his own tunic, giving him something else to concentrate on if only for a few seconds.

“Have ye come tae confess then? I may not be a priest, but I can hear yers if ye wish.”

“What?” Calenhad's head snapped up and shook. “No! No, I'm fine... Thank you.” His eyes flicked to something behind Sebastian, another person standing a respectable distance away, pretending not to watch them but no doubt waiting to Calenhad to vacate the area. The mage turned and made his way toward an empty bench near one of the stair cases leading to the second floor. Rooms at the top were stuffed full of crates and sacks full of candles and other random items the chantry used for various reasons while the other led to private confessionals and the balcony the Grand Cleric sat and …... did whatever the void she did all day. She had to be the laziest Grand Cleric in all Thedas, certainly the laziest he had ever seen, not that he had seen many to begin with. He had seen the Grand Cleric of Ferelden a couple times from a distance. Power followed the woman like a cloak, he knew despite his own views on the chantry she was worthy of her status. Elthina wouldn’t have lasted a day as Ferelden's Grand Cleric. The nobles would eat her alive.

“Are ye sure? Confession can help tae clear yer mind and lay yer troubles tae rest.”

So can a bottle of Ruelthir, he thought as he sat down and leaned against the wall. “No, thank you.” He repeated.

“As ye wish.” Sebastian adjusted his robes and sat down beside Calenhad, close enough so they could speak quietly, far enough to allow the mage the space he required to remain comfortable. “If I may ask, why are ye here if nae for prayer or confession.”

“The Templars are sweeping Lowtown again.” He sighed as he tilted his head to one side and watched as someone took the kneeler he had been using.

“Does it have aught tae do with the foundry?”

Calenhad scrunched his face up and nodded. Beside him Sebastian cleared his throat but not quick enough to hide the beginning of the chuckle he tried to cover up. “Yes...that.” He added before going silent. Sebastian hadn't been at the rose when Carver was speaking to Jethann, but he had shown up in time to join them before they ventured to Lowtown's foundry district. They had been unlucky and only found a few shades and wedding band still attached to a mangled, bloody severed hand. Thanks to Isabela's rather macabre description of what they had found, Ninette's husband rejected the return of the ring and Isabela ended up with it as payment for helping out. Pirates. That hadn't been the most memorable part of the night for Calenhad though, his mind always returned to thoughts of his brother sleeping with elven whores at the Rose. Or at least one elven whore, he had no idea who or what Serendipity was but that didn't stop him from strongly disliking the person as much as he disliked Jethann. Serendipity was a silly name for a whore anyway.

“I suppose that would explain why yer hiding here and nae at the Hanged Man.” Sebastian finally said breaking the silence and pulling Calenhad back to the present.

Calenhad's face twisted in revulsion as he looked over at Sebastian again. “That place is horrible. It smells, it's loud, and Isabela is always there drinking away every bit of coin she has and more.” _Not to mention Jareth has made it his new haunt. No longer content to rot his insides with the rest of the Red Iron, he now preferred to drink and brood while undressing Cal with his eyes._ He would keep that part to himself. Embarrassing such a foul creature would lust after him like an ox in rut.

“Ye dinnae like Isabela?” 

Calenhad shrugged as he leaned forward resting his elbows on his knees with a sigh. “I like her well enough, it's just that....” He paused and looked down at the floor, brushing his left foot across one of the worn chipped alabaster tiles. Alabaster floors, statues of Andraste made of gold, oak staircases without proper protection from the elements. The chantry of Kirkwall had way to much money and not enough common sense, he could see why Elthina fit so well there. “She is very....handsy.” He finally continued. “When Carver isn't there for her to paw at.”

Sebastian laughed quietly as he nodded in agreement.”There's a lass who knows naught of propriety. She could use a bit of the Maker in her life. Both of ye could, in fact.”

Calenhad wrinkled his nose again but offered up no argument as he knew it would make no real difference in Sebastian's opinion. He was set in his ways it seemed, and he was determined to turn both Hawke brothers into devout Andrastians. It had been amusing at first, but quickly became a bit more annoying then anything. When they had first met, Sebastian had been concerned over Carver harboring an apostate, brother or not. He had begun to sound much like their mother, who of course _was_ a devout Andrastian, or so she liked to claim. _Magic is meant to serve man, never rule over him... Magic is a curse of the maker....The Circle exists for a reason..._ It didn't take long for him to stop mentioning the curse or the circle though, not since Calenhad had made the mistake of admitting he had never once been to confession his entire life. Cal thought he would have a seizure when Carver added he hadn't been since their father died. Sebastian's goal had quickly switched from turning in Cal to turning both of them into good little Maker loving Fereldens. He did like the guy though. Once you got past the Chantry's teachings he was a rather interesting person with an even more interesting past.

“Speaking of needing the Maker.” Sebastian mumbled low, the disgusted tone that lined his words enough to make Calenhad raise an eyebrow and follow the man's narrowed gaze across the chantry.

“The Seneschal?” 

“Aye, Brann comes in once er twice a week fer confession. Nae doubt tae speak of his infidelities.”

“Huh?”

“Brann is a married man, but often seen in the company of an elven mistress. He dinnae even have the good sense tae keep his indiscretions secret.” He sighed as they watched the man follow one of the older priests up the stairs to a more private area. “I dinnae know whom I pity muir, the wife or the mistress.”

“I thought brothers were supposed to keep confessions private.” Calenhad couldn't help but smile as he turned his gaze.

“He dinnae confess tae me! I am only sharing a bit of my own opinions. There's nae harm in that. What happens outside these walls hardly remains a secret.”

“Gossip is a sin though, isn't it, brother?”

Sebastian barely managed to keep the smile off his face. “Gossip would imply some sart of malicious intent. If what Brann is doing is shameful, perhaps he ought not do it.” He chuckled softly. He sighed unhappily as his smile faded. “If only it were sae simple. Truthfully, my concern is fer his puir wife and the young lass nae doubt ensnared in his web of wealth and power.” His shoulders slumped as he looked over at the now empty staircase again. “He would nae be the first tae do such a thing, there is never a shortage of lassies willing tae debase themselves fer the promises of powerful men.”

“Hoping to find the one who will help them rise to nobility... or royalty.”

“There is nae royalty aboot in Kirkwall.”

Calenhad smiled and dropped his gaze to the floor. “Sorry, I was actually thinking of King Cailan.”

“Yer king was known tae do such things?” 

Calenhad shrugged. “Rumors mostly, but I wouldn't put it past him. The man was....” Calenhad thought a moment, his fingers rubbing against the rough fabric of his trousers as he searched for the right word. How to describe a man such as Cailan, a man who took after his father in all the wrong ways. A King who only ruled because Ferelden cherished blood over ability. A man who ruled because his father ruled, not because he himself was capable. Cailan was... “He was a Therein.” He said finally biting his lower lip. “I guess you kind of have to be Ferelden to really understand that. But I think that might fall under gossip.”

Sebastian's laugh was low, mindful of how easily sound could carry though the hall and elbowed the mage in the arm. “Yer daft, but I ken ye well enot.”

“I have my moments.” Calenhad said as a pleased grin spread across his face.

“Have ye and yer family decided whether ye'll return home er nae after yer time with the Airn is finished?”

“Mother wishes to stay. She continues to petition for rights to the Amell Estate in Hightown. What mother wants she almost always gets. In regards to staying anyway. I doubt she will have much success in convincing anyone to give her the estate. At least not without copious amounts of gold. I do not ever seeing us moving out of Lowtown, but I think mother will be pleased just to be back. Aveline will not be returning either, she has a place waiting for her in the city guard and will be moving to the Barracks soon.” There was sadness in his voice as he spoke of Aveline's plans. Despite their cramped living he had grown quite fond of the woman; the big scary sister he'd never had.

“What of yer Brother?”

“I don't know what Carver wants. He doesn't speak much about such things.”

“He was a soldier in Ferelden, yes? Will he be joining the gaird?”

“No, they won't take him. They will only take Aveline because she is a veteran officer, Carver was just a grunt. I don't think they want to risk angering Kirkwall by allowing so many Ferelden's to join the guard.”

“And what of ye? It sounds as if ye dinnae wish to stay. Ye could still go home.”

Calenhad shook his head. “I can't go home. As much as I wish I could, I'm...” He cut himself off and smiled. _I am an illegal apostate. I am unfit for hard labor. Without Carver to watch over me I would be dead or tranquil within a month. I am completely obsessed with_ … “I cannot go home no matter how much I would like to.”

Sebastian nodded as he turned his gaze toward the oversized statue of Andraste. “I ken that. I have thought aboot returning tae Starkhaven many times. Now it's tae late.”

“Why didn't you go back?”

“My family thought it was wise I kept my distance. As third son I would have been charged with leading the militia, but I became an embarrassment instead. I was just lucky they decided tae let me stay in the Marches.”

“But don't you have to go back to rule?”

“That would be verra unwise at this point. As the last of my immediate family, I would risk much in returning now.”

“Then who will rule?”

“My cousins, nae doubt. I probably could, but I'd be daft tae want tae. I have devoted my life tae the Chantry and have already taken my vows.” A small smile spread across his face as he stared across the nearly empty Chantry. “My grandfather would probably approve of my decision to stay here.”

“He didn't think you could rule?”

“What?” Sebastian frowned as he turned to look at Calenhad. “No, nothing like that! He was a very devoot man. When I told him of my parents threat tae pledge me tae the Chantry, he said he would gladly trade his title fer a life of quiet contemplation.” He smiled again as he tilted his head. “The Maker ordained a place fer us all” he would say. I believe he was right and this is my place.”

“But as only living heir to the throne, that would make your place king?” Calenhad frowned at the prince tilting his head to one side. 

“We dinnae have kings, we have Princes.” Sebastian corrected.

“The Thereins have ruled for many generations. Maric's bastard rules now. Royalty is passed through the blood. Doesn't Starkhaven work the same way? I would think the Vael family bloodline retains the throne until the last of your line.”

Sebastian shook his head. “Isnae sae simple as all that, Calenhad. I have given my life tae the chantry, my family lies dead in a river of blood, and there are assassins nae doubt just waiting fer me tae return. And again, there are my cousins... My return could have dire consequences, including all out civil war.”  
 _  
Royals are bred Sebastian, Kings or Princes it doesn't matter they are bred to rule. You were such a person long before you were a chantry.... whatever you are. Doesn't that mean anything? Does your city mean so little to you? Did you know the new King of Ferelden was raised by the chantry? Yup, a Templar. He gave up the Chantry to fight the blight and rule his country because he was a Therein. An unwanted offspring of a servant girl. Can you live knowing that a Therein bastard shows more loyalty and dedication to his people then you have shown to yours?_

“I suppose.” Calenhad said softly as he rubbed his fingers together between his knees. He knew he couldn't judge another man for his choices and there would be time enough for arguments later. He could never truly appreciate the weight such a title held, nor would he ever want to. Being a King in the Fade was nothing compared to leading a real city or country.

“I have tae admit though, I do miss it sometimes.” 

“Miss what?” 

“All of it. The parties, the people, the fighting.”

“You'll get plenty of all three if you hang around Carver and Izzy long enough. They...” 

Calenhad's words were cut short by the sudden burst of noise from the main entrance. The sound of many booted feet echoing loudly across the quiet hall gave Calenhad cause for alarm. Judging by urgency of the march, the Templars had found something in their sweep and were in a rush to report it. He knew whatever it was had nothing to do with him, but it was time for him to leave just the same.

“So umm. “Calenhad stood as he rubbed his hand on his trouser leg. “Carver said if I saw you to invite you to the Hanged Man for cards later. Nightfall probably. Izzy will be there.”

“I have nae pressing matters today, I may just join them.”

Calenhad nodded. “... Then... see you, maybe.” He mumbled already half way to the door knowing full well and not caring that Sebastian hadn't heard him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My dear friend Bucklesinthesun over at DevArt helped out by fixing Seb's voce for me. Thank you as always darlin' for the help!


	10. The Party

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Merrill asked softly as they dodged a group of late night dock-hands on their way to work. 

Calenhad shook his head skirting an elven couple on their way back to the alienage. “Not really, but Carver wants me there.”

“And why am I coming along?”

“.. Because you are my friend.” He dropped his gaze to the ground. If Merrill heard the small hesitation in his answer, she didn't mention it. It was mostly true anyway, Merrill was his friend and that was enough to warrant an invitation to the Hanged Man with him. Carver's newest friend, a dwarf this time, wanted to throw them a party for their last day in servitude to the Red Iron. Calenhad hadn't met him but he knew he was a rogue, another leather clad, blade wielding grump for his brother's quickly growing collection of metal clad giants. He felt a twinge of guilt using her in such a way, wanting someone he could actually see eye to eye with, both literally and figuratively. 

“Who all is going to be there?” Merrill asked followed by a grunt and apology as she collided with another woman. 

“I assume all of Carver's friends will be there, warhound included.”

“You know them all though, right?”

“Most of them, you know more then I do. I never met the elf. Or Varric.”

“You never met Fenris?” Merrill asked surprised. 

Calenhad shook his head as he kicked a small stone from his path. He had heard about the lyrium branded elf, but had yet to meet him. Carver had taken Merrill with him when they had first met, something about how he figured a blood mage would be a better choice for chasing down a blood mage. Calenhad knew that was half a load of oxen shit but didn't argue. 

“How long has he known this Varric person?”

“About a week or so I think. Not long.”

“Are any of your Red Iron friends going to be there?”

“They are not our friends, and no.” _Thank the Maker for that._ Lucky for them most of the Iron saw the Hanged man beneath them, sticking mainly to the Rose or The Blushing Hussy in the Red Lantern District. He just hoped Jareth didn't decide to show up uninvited. The very last thing Calenhad wanted was Jareth showing up completely snockered to make a last desperate attempt to reenact a more lurid version of what happen in Meeran's office. Or worse make a scene by retelling the story to a tavern full of drunks. Every vile detail only Carver and Aveline knew laid bare for the rest of Kirkwall. He could almost picture it, Jareth on a table laughing as he explained every swipe of his tongue across Cal's throat, or each shudder that caused friction between their pressed bodies. 

“Hey.” Calenhad jumped slightly as Merrill's hand gripped his elbow and forced him to a halt beside her. “Are you alright? You look as if you might be sick. We don't have to do if you are worried.”

Calenhad shook his head trying to dislodge the memories. “No, I'm ok. We are already here anyway so we might as well go in.” He flashed her a smile before looking up at the upside down effigy hanging over the door. He could feel Merrill’s hand slide down his arm and over his wrist, her fingers searching and finding his own locking tightly together. “It will be fun.” He added as she pressed herself against his side. She smelled of woodsmoke and pine, of juniper berries on a cool evening breeze. She was always a lovely reminder of home, until the door of the Hanged Man opened and swept it away in a gust of piss and vomit.

“Is it just me, or is this place big and scary?”

“It's not just you. The place goes downward toward Darktown a fair piece.” He had to lean close to her ear so he wouldn't need to yell over the gales of laughter that erupted at a nearby table.

“And that's where the creepy feeling sets in?” She asked thoughtfully as she scanned the crowd.

“No, Isabela is where the creepy feelings set in.” He corrected her with a small grin.

Merrill laughed as she leaned heavily against Calenhad's side, her free hand reaching across her body to join the other completely enveloping his own. “Mostly her feeling other people in a creepy way.” She smiled and gently patted Calenhad's hand when he cringed at the thought. “Sorry, I always forget you are one of her favorite targets.”

“Yeah, but with Carver _and_ Sebastian here, she will probably ignore me.” 

“Hello little Hawke.” 

Calenhad sighed softly as he turned and smiled at the woman speaking to him. “Hello Edwina.”

“You're here lookin' for your brother's little party? He's up in Varric's suite tonight. Come on I was just takin' them a round.” She smiled warmly as she headed toward the stairs in the back of the taproom.

Merrill gave Calenhad's hand a squeeze as they followed the waitress through the tavern. The place seemed far busier then usual as they weaved their way carefully through the drunken rabble. The dock workers were in their usual place taking up all the tables nearest to the door where the smell of rotten fish and animal shit would, hopefully, find it's way back outside. The foundry workers were all grouped together further in where they usually filled the rest of the taproom with the smell of burning coal and melted steel. As they approached the stairs he saw the reason the place seemed unusually full. The miners were taking up a corner usually used by the foundry workers, easily recognizable by the smell of dirt, stone, and blood. The bandages many of them wore around their limbs and heads suggested the mines were shut down... again. He really had to wonder why they didn't just close the mines down for good or at the very least relocate to less hazardous mines. He didn't see Jareth in any of the crowds, with any luck he wouldn't show up at all, and if he did hopefully Edwina wouldn't tell him where they were.

“You're thinking too hard again.” Merrill whispered as she tugged Calenhad's arm pulling him up the stairs. “Don't worry so much, it will give you even more wrinkles!” 

“I don't have _that_ many wrinkles Merrill.” He frowned as he rubbed his forehead as Merrill giggled in his ear.

..~~

“.... Off and shove it straight up his ass!” Carver grunted loudly before draining the contents of his mug. 

“It's a wonder you worked for the man so long.”

“It's not like we had a choice, Fenris. The man did get us into the city.”

“Yes Aveline, but we don't work for him anymore. Thank the Maker for that. I don't think I would survive another day under his boot.” Carver sighed as he shoved his empty mug to the center of the table.

“You are resilient Hawke, you would have survived as long as you needed.”

Carver snorted as he leaned back in his chair and looked toward the dwarf. “Is that what you will put in your newest book? The Resilient Hawke; Ferelden Refugee.”

“That is a terrible title. Edwina, it's about time you got here. I was just about....” Varric's voice cut off suddenly causing everyone at the table to look up and follow his gaze toward the doorway as the waitress began switching empty mugs for full mugs and unopened bottles. “Ah, this must be Hawke's...... big.... brother.” Varric looked curiously at Carver, one eyebrow raised in question.

Carver nodded as he watched the two forms standing just outside the door. “My elder brother, yes. Calenhad stop hovering and get in here.” He grunted as his eyes fell on the mages linked hands. He couldn't help but notice how close the two were standing together, Merrill pressed firmly up against Calenhad's side, hips bumping as they moved toward the bench across from him. “Cal this here is Varric,” he pointed at the dwarf sitting on one end of the table. “and Fenris.” He nodded toward the elf sitting at the other end.

“Hi.” Calenhad murmured as he stepped over the bench and sat down between Merrill and Fenris.

Carver scowled as he watched his brother's hand disappear under the table with Merrill's. “I think it's time we open something stronger.” He said reaching for one of the new bottles of whiskey. He concentrated on opening the bottle, pretending not to notice Merrill sitting flush against his brother's side. Close enough that he knew their hands had to be resting on one of their legs, probably Merrill's.

“They are adorable together.” Isabela whispered in his ear as her hand fell on his own thigh, a bit too high.

Carver rolled his eyes and took a large swallow from the bottle, coughing when it burned its way down the back of his throat. He handed the bottle to Izzy and glanced across the table again. He had to admit there was a modicum of truth in her words. Merrill was a very attractive woman. Black hair framing her fair face, exotic looking tattoos, big bright blue eyes, pouty lips and a warm smile. He could easily picture them together standing eye to eye. Her pale fingers in his hair or caressing his dark blushing cheek. The contrast of their skin quite beautiful to look at. Twin gazes a mixture of fear, curiosity, innocence. Both of them mages and both of them understanding the other in a way he never could. Take away the demons and they would have been the perfect Ferelden couple... Void take them both.

Fenris cleared his throat pulling Carver's attention from his brother. “Do I have something on my face.” He asked, eyes narrowed slightly as he watched Calenhad.

“Huh?... I mean no... no sorry I was just... well no.” Calenhad's gaze dropped causing his hair falling in a veil of brown and gold to cover his face. At Carver's angle he could see Calenhad's eyes twitching trying not to look back toward the elf.

Fenris raised a hand and looked at it thoughtfully. “Yes it really is lyrium, and yes it does extend down the entire length of my body including my feet.” Fenris sighed as he dropped his hand on the table and looked again toward Calenhad who was once again openly staring at the markings on the his neck and face. “Was there something else you were curious about?” He asked when he noticed the curious look in the other man's eyes had not left. “You may ask if you wish I shall not fault you for it. Most people are quite curious.”

“It's not just lyrium is it.” Carver winced when he saw the sudden change in his brother's face as he flinched away trying to move even close to Merrill as he did. Any closer and he would have been sitting in the woman's lap.

Fenris' face twisted in both confusion and anger causing Carver's back to stiffen as he twisted the bottle between his palms. “No it is....” He could almost feel when the elf's gaze switched targets, now settling on him and nearly boring a hole straight through his head. “Is there something you failed to mention, Hawke.” Fenris asked through clenched teeth.

Carver turned a dark gaze on Fenris as he set the bottle down carefully on the table in front of him. “His name is Calenhad Malcolm Hawke and he is my...elder...brother.” Carver's voice was calm, steady and lined with something that made everyone in the room shift uncomfortably. “What else was there to say, Fenris.”

Fenris started at Carver for another moment, both sets of eyes challenging the other before they came to a silent understanding. Fenris nodded slightly as he turned back toward Calenhad who was now apparently gripping Merrill's hand far too tight, if her pained face was any indication. “No they are not. They are actually silverite laced with lyrium. You are.... perceptive.” Fenris cleared his throat again as he looked down at his own mug.

“Well!” Isabela clapped her hands together. “Now that the introductions are complete, let's play!” Her tone was far too cheery as she pulled out a deck of cards and slapped them on the table.

“As long as we don't play strip wicked grace.” Carver smirked as he pushed the bottle toward the pirate. 

“Tsk, afraid you are going to lose your shirt again?”

“Yes.” He chuckled as he snatched up the cards and began shuffling them, completely missing the flush that suddenly flooded Calenhad's face.

..~~

He could feel the gaze on him, even before he felt the first twinge of a much deserved hangover in the back of his skull which was quickly escalating. “What have I told you Calenhad.” He grumbled as he tried to sit up, only to feel the world tilt underneath him sending his stomach into a free fall.

“I am creepy when I stare.” Calenhad said softly, his voice lined with a smile.

Carver snorted as he finally managed to push himself up into a sitting position and lean back against he wall, eyes trying to focus on the spider web hidden in the shadows above his brother's bed. One of them would have to get up there and take care of that one of these days, unless Cal had a secret spider removal spell he hadn't known about. “Something like that.” He muttered as he closed his eyes trying to ignore the steel spikes in his brain and the sudden pitch of his stomach that reminded him vividly of the first time he stepped foot on a ship back in Gwaren.

“Do you want some help?”

Carver shook his head slowly from side to side. “I'm fine, just need a minute. Next time Isabela insists on a Dalish drinking contest, slap her for me.”

“Aveline already has, or so I heard.”

Carver chuckled then winced as the sound of his own voice sent another spike through his head. “Who told you that?”

“Aveline, last night when she brought you home. You don't remember?”

Carver shook his head again. He remembered little of what happen after the twentieth or so hand of wicked grace, and next to nothing after Merrill taught them all a Dalish drinking game. He vaguely remembered Merrill getting completely snockered. Calenhad and Sebastian had to take her home early. Sebastian had returned, Calenhad hadn't. He was pretty sure that was about the time he decided a good blackout was in order. Mission accomplished. He snorted. “Why did Aveline hit Izzy?”

“I am not entirely sure.” Calenhad's voice was far closer then it had been a moment ago. A second later he felt one of Calenhad's cool hands on his forehead, the other resting gently on his bare stomach. Carver flinched at the touch, he knew without even looking his brother was touching the upturned howling head of his mabari tattoo. Before he could protest he heard the familiar stream of words fall quietly from his brother's lips followed by the gentle warmth of his spells coursing through his veins. “I wasn't there.” Calenhad continued. “Though I wish I had been to tell you the truth.”

“Oh right, you went home with..” Carver cleared his throat when his brother's hands left his body as quickly as they had come. “With Merrill. Thanks.” He sighed as he opened his eyes again watching as Calenhad returned to his own shit bed. “She is a beautiful woman, isn't she.”

“Aveline? Yes she is, but don't tell _her_ that, she might take it as an insult.”

Carver laughed shaking his head. “No, I meant Merrill.”

Calenhad shrugged as he looked away from Carver and toward the door. “I suppose she is pretty enough.” He rubbed his right eye as he looked back at Carver. “Her tattoos make her eyes stand out. Reminds me of the waters outside Highever.” Calenhad coughed as he looked at the floor.

“Hmm, So when did you get home?” Carver asked as he looked at his own lap suddenly interested in a thread that was coming loose along the seam.

“I came home after Sebastian and I dropped Merrill off at home. I was tired.”

“You didn't stay with Merrill?” Carver looked up and had to fight back a laugh when he saw his brother's face twist in something caught between horror and revulsion. He couldn't say he wasn't at least a little relieved to see it.

“No! Merrill is sweet and pretty but.. No.” He gave a small shudder. “Everything else aside, she deals with demons. I think she is sweet on Sebastian anyway.” Calenhad smirked. “She was very talkative while he carried her home.”

“He... carried her?” Carver raised an amused eyebrow.

“Yes, over his shoulder like a bag of turnips. She wouldn't stop petting his hair and talking about how shiny he looked in the moonlight, or how shiny he would look if she could see him in the fade.”

“Andraste's tits!” Carver burst out laughing. “She didn't!”

Calenhad blushed slightly as he nodded. “She is not as innocent as she seems, Carver. The things that came out of her mouth after that were a bit..... awkward.” He bit his lip trying to hold back a grin as his cheeks turned darker at the memory.

Carver held up his hand. “Spare me the details, I don't even want to know.” He scratched his head and rand his fingers through his hair. “Where is Gamlen and mother?”

“Gamlen is probably at the rose. Mother took Maferath for a walk around Hightown to cool down.”

Carver sighed heavily as he let his head drop against he wall behind him a little too hard. “What did you do this time?” 

Calenhad smiled. “Actually this time it was you.”

Carver raised his eyebrow as he stared at his brother's face for a long moment trying to decide if he was actually telling a joke. When he saw nothing of the lie in his eyes, he became suddenly very curious. “Ok, what did I do to anger our dearest mother?”

“She read the contract that was delivered for you this morning.”

“... What contract?”

Calenhad blinked as he tilted his head to one side. “The contract with Varric?” He frowned. “You are now a partner in the Tethras' deep roads venture.”

“Varric managed to talk me into THAT?!” Carver sounded horrified as he tried to find any bit of lie in his brother's voice or face, sure this was some kind of joke he and Varric planned to get back at him for getting so drunk.

“No. If I remember right, you were the one to talk him into it. And then you insisted he put it in writing. The contract was delivered this morning by messenger.”

Carver groaned as he closed his eyes and covered them with one hand. “And what did mother say?”

“Something along the lines of... Carver would never do this.. You are a terrible influence on your younger brother.... No way he would have entered such an agreement unless you pushed him to it while he was too drunk to have any sense left.”

Carver barked a humorless laugh, dark and tinged with anger. “Dear Maker.” He shook his head as he dropped his hand to his side and looked over at his brother. “What do you think of all this?”

Calenhad shrugged as his gaze dropped somewhere below Carver's face. “I think you are making a mistake. But I was never a good judge of such things to begin with.”

“Exactly how much is the venture going to cost me?”

“Forty three sovereign.”

Carver sighed again as he shifted his gaze back to the spiderweb, then to the small partition they used as some form of privacy screen for their morning business, and changing when the other was in the room with them. “Well, at least I won't have Meeran taking all my money anymore. Forty three sovereign is an odd number.”

“Well it's actually fifty but...” Calenhad cut off and stood, walking over to Carver's bed again and knelt down beside it. He watched as his brother pulled up the loose board and dug around in the hollow area below. He could see the glitter of Calenhad's staff for a brief second before the mage's arm moved to obscure it from view. After a moment he pulled his hand back and offered Carver a small pouch as he slid the board back into place with his free hand. “I saved up some money, it's..... It’s only seven Sovereign.” He said apologetically.

Carver took the purse and weighed it in his hand. “How?”

Calenhad shrugged one shoulder, standing up and brushing off his trousers as a small smirk spread across his lips. “I am content with filling my free time with less... expensive hobbies brother.”

Carver blushed, giving a slightly nervous laugh as he looked down at his hands holding the small coin purse. Between Meeran and mother, it was amazing Calenhad managed to save any money, let alone the sum he freely handed over. Carver had less of a problem holding onto his coin, only to spend it selfishly on expensive whores at the Rose, or cheap whiskey at the Hanged Man. “Thank you, Calenhad.” He managed feeling like a total and complete ass. He shifted uncomfortably on the bed as he poured the coins out onto his hand and began counting it. Not because he didn't trust his brother's word, but because he didn't trust himself not to turn a deep shade of crimson if he were to catch his brother's eye again. Especially since he could feel the self satisfaction that was no doubt etched across his brother's face as clear as day. Moments like this were rare between them. It had been many a year since the last time Calenhad had managed to put him in his place. Since he had made him actually feel like the younger of the two.

Calenhad nodded heading toward the door, his steps light as he moved. Carver knew that look was not going to leave Calenhad's eyes anytime soon, he just hoped he could avoid Cal until that look finally faded. “I will make you something to eat. Aveline will be here in a little while. She said she might have a job for us. It's along the coast so we will probably be out all day.” Carver groaned at the knowing tone in his brother's voice. Maker he hated that mage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter may or may not take longer then usual, fighting a block at the moment.. as if I could go any slower updating already right? Sorry to all those that actually read this! And thanks for reading!


	11. Payback's a Bitch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
> this chapter is where it should be now, before Brother, Lover, Mine. Which has been moved to the next chapter. Sorry.  
> *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“ _Hey Calenhad, describe yourself in ten words or less.”_

“ _Short, shy, quiet, Ferelden, mage.” ... Carver's. The last word he would keep to himself. He knew and the maker knew, and that was already one too many._

It was one of Isabela's more odd conversation starters during their time in the Hanged Man. A game of _In ten words or less describe...._ Her favorite had always been to have everyone describe someone else, and almost always had something to do with less then savory details. He usually sat out on the game, trying not to listen as they each described how they thought the other was in bed, or which positions they like the most. Only participating when the topic was a bit less graphic.

“ _I have one,”_ Aveline had said one night. _“Describe Gamlen in ten words or less.”_

“ _Thieving, lieing, gambling, smelly, Marcher. Family.”_ If he had to add something else it would probably be, _drinks foul smelling piss-water._ It was probably more like eleven words, but as Calenhad wrinkled his nose at the steaming liquid, he figured he could forgive himself this once. “I don't know why you drink this stuff, Uncle. It smells terrible.” He said as he pulled the pot off the stove and poured the contents into a chipped old mug. It really did smell awful, green hops and rotten hay under something that smelled a lot like the fetid waters of the Kocari. It was a smell any Ferelden lucky to live close enough during the northern winds never forgot.

“Tastes better'n it smells.”  
  
“I will take your word for it.” Calenhad said as he carefully handed the mug over and sat down cross-legged on the floor.

“Thanks kid. So lets see where was I.” Gamlen said thoughtfully as he sipped the ale, if you could legally call it ale. “Yes, so your mother had friends, if you could call them friends, in Lowtown. She would take her dolls down there and play with the little girls, always bragging about how much better her's were. Well one day she goes down there and one of her little friends, I don't remember her name, has a new doll. From what she says, one of the best looking dolls ever.” “Gamlen shook his head as he stared blankly at the wall. “I wouldn't know, dolls all look the same to me but your mother swore by it. So what does she do? She tries to take it.”

“She tried to steal someone elses toys?” Calenhad asked, less surprised then he probably should have been.

“Aye, I'm not the only thief in this family, boy. Your mom was worse then me.” He snorted. “She even does it, or would have done it to you too, if I hadn't already lost everything.” He raised a knowing eyebrow at Calenhad  
  
“That's not exactly the same thing.” Calenhad said softly, his own voice betraying the fact even he didn't quite believe his own words.  
  
“Your name was on that will too, boy. But we both know my sister wouldn't have let you touch a single sovereign of that money.” He was silent for a moment as he took another sip of his drink and then nodded when Calenhad had no reply. “So anyway back to the story, your mother tried to take the doll from the girl, but this was apparently something special. Her parents hand made the thing for her birthday and she wasn't about to give it up. Long story short, your mother loses and comes home bloody and covered head to toe in mud.”

Calenhad laughed as he tried to visualize a younger, smaller version of his mother completely covered head to toe in mud. “Your kidding me!” It was easier then he would have expected. Maybe because he had a good imagination, or perhaps because he was Ferelden and knew a thing or two about mud. Or maybe it was just because he knew how much he would enjoy seeing the current version of the woman tossed in the mud by someone she deemed less then herself. He always took no small amount of joy in watching someone put his mother in her place now and again. The mud would have been the icing on the cake, so to speak.  
  
“I am not! Completely covered, she was furious too! Made all our lives miserable for the next two weeks, and didn't leave the house for almost a month!” Gamlen chuckled as he leaned back in his chair. “Ah but it was worth it. Seeing your mother taken down a peg by a Lowtown Commoner. You know that year for her birthday I got her a really nice doll with silk dresses and all. Cost me a small fortune. Almost didn't have enough let over to get it dunked in brown paint before giving it to Leandra.”

Calenhad tilted his head back and laughed. “Oh Uncle Gamlen that is terrible! What did she do?”  
  
“She punched me, right in the snoz. Hard enough to bloody it. Oh but it was worth it.” he said with a distant fond look.

Calenhad had to smile as he watched Gamlen lose himself in the memory of his childhood for a moment. He really did like his Uncle, despite the fact he had ' _stolen'_ his and his mother's, or rather just his mother's, inheritance. Once you got past the thieving and lieing, he really wasn't such a bad guy. Most Kirkwallians' or Marchers, or whatever they called themselves, you could take at face value. What you saw is what you got. Gamlen had a depth to him he kept well hidden, buried beneath the piss and vinegar smelling booze. Cal had only seen that side a few times, during their afternoon's when no one else was around.

“Your mother, she wasn't _always_ so terrible. She changed a little when she met your father. Of all the people to tame your mother, it was a barbarian.” He shook his head as he smiled down at Calenhad. “No one thought she would ever abandon wealth for a Ferelden apostate. She surprised us all.”

Calenhad snorted quietly at that, It never failed to amaze him how often he heard the word Barbarian like it was a bad thing. No born Ferelden cared one way or the other about the word. If anything it was more of a compliment from other countries then anything else. There was nothing wrong with being a part of the hard working, mud covered 'giants' from the frozen south who preferred the smell of dog-shit over Olreasian perfume. He had told Gamlen that once, but of course he didn't believe him. _“No one is proud of being called a barbarian.”_ He had said, _you Fereldens will figure that out one day_. Calenhad just shook his head and smiled.

“Did you know my father?” He asked softly as he looked up at his Uncle, wrinkling his nose as he watched the man take a large swallow from his mug.

“In passing. Mostly the things your mother would tell me from letters passed back and forth.” He snorted. “Circle was.... different back then. Less tranquil, slightly happier mages. Less blood in the streets.”

Calenhad frowned and was about to ask something else when a sudden racket slammed against the front door. Fists and a foot from the sound of it. Only one person knocked on their door like that. Calenhad sighed as he stood and moved quickly to the door, standing with his hand on the bolt waiting until the knocking ceased, lest he get a good smack in the forehead again. “Hello Izzy.” He muttered as he opened the door. “Hello Merrill.” He added when he noticed the elf standing shyly behind the pirate.  
  
“Hello sweet thing.” She slipped past him, stepping just inside and looking around the hovel with a sniff. “Coriff's new brew is it? Dirty Knob Ale.” She grinned as she glanced at Gamlen, who was openly staring at the woman. “Has to be one of my favorites so far.”  
  
“It has it's charm.” Gamlen said with a grin Calenhad did not much approve of.

“Carver isn't home yet. He should be back soon, if you want to wait. You can come in Merrill.”

“That's ok we don't need your brother.” Izzy said before anyone else could say anything. She turned her gaze toward him, one of her sweetest smiles slipping across her lips. Calenhad knew what that meant, and cared for it even less then his Uncle's openly lusty stares. “We are doing a job for a friend of mine, nothing big just have to go pick up some stuff at the docks. You can come with us.”  
  
“I don't know.” He said softly glancing at the other mage who refused to move from her spot on the top stair, and refused to give any input into the matter at hand. _Great help you are Merrill_ he thought. “I shouldn't take any jobs without Carver.”  
  
“Oh come on little man, it's just a quick pick up no biggy. Someone stole his shipment and we are going to go get it back. One or two people tops, I can take care of that I just need some help carrying it all.”  
  
Calenhad sighed as he looked toward his Uncle. “Well I was...”  
  
“Don't say no on my account, lad. I have someplace to be anyway. Hot date tonight.” He winked at the pirate woman.

“Oooh another trip to the Rose tonight, dear, sweet Uncle?”

“Don't call him that.” Calenhad said a bit louder then he meant to, his own cheeks turning a darker shade as he averted his eyes. “You make it sound so dirty.” He blanched.  
  
“That's the point little man, now are you coming or not? At least a couple gold, maybe more each if we can get most of it if not all of it back.”  
  
Calenhad looked at the ceiling, the wall, the floor, the table. Every place he could other then Isabela's face as he thought it over, trying to come up with a reason why he couldn't go and why they should wait for Carver. When he couldn't think of a good enough reason he sighed again, shoulders slumping. “Fine.” He mumbled. They needed the money anyway. Carver was working himself ragged trying to make up their share of the expedition funds, they were almost half way there and Calenhad hadn't helped much since the day he had given Carver the first seven Sovereign.

“Great! Lets go!” She said as she grabbed the front of Calenhad's shirt on her way out the door. “Bye bye Uncle Amell!” She sang over her shoulder as the door closed behind them. Calenhad was already regretting saying yes.

 

..~~

 

Vomit, shit, piss, dead meat, sulfur, more vomit. Kirkwall was such a charming place to live Carver thought as he stepped over something he was glad he couldn't make out in the dark. If nothing else, the place was a grand plethora of rancid smells and sites that would make even the darkspawn think twice about invading. Not that they would have needed to, the district of Darktown alone had a higher body count then the whole of Antiva City... probably. Add in the bloated bodies pulled from the docks and the foul smelling drainage canals, and they could probably even give Tevinter a run for their money.

“I was actually beginning to think you were going to stand me up.” Meeran's voice drifted from the shadows just short of the canal.

“I almost did.” Carver said as he stopped, his right hand tightening around the lower grip of his great sword, the fingers of his other itching to grip the hilt of the small dagger on his hip. His gaze scanned the area for any surprises. Meeran was not one for ambushes, he liked looking into the eyes of his victims far too much for such ploys. But neither was he one to choose a shit stained alley for a job meeting.  
  
“We both know that would have been very unwise.” Meeran stepped out o the shadows, arms crossed over his chest, gauntlets clanging loudly against an armored chest.

“You came alone.” His gaze moved back to the Mercenary. “You really think that was wise Meeran?”  
  
Meeran smirked as he leaned against one of the buildings. “Don't pretend to threaten me boy, you know as well as I that you pose no real threat.”  
  
“And yet you still wore your armor.”

“These alley's can be dangerous.” He grinned. “I got a job for you kid, a noble that needs killing.”  
  
“Not interested.” Carver held up his left hand stopping the man from talking. “We don't kill for your coin anymore.”

Meeran smirked as he shook his head. “You need the money, and I need this job done. You owe me.”  
  
“The hell I do.” Carver said raising one eyebrow. “We paid our debt to you a dozen times over, we owe you nothing and if the only job you have is killing someone, we aren't interested.”  
  
Meeran laughed, the cold hard laugh he used when he thought, when he knew, he had the upper hand in a negotiation. “That is where you're wrong.” He pushed himself off the wall and stepped closer, leaning in close enough for Carver to make out all the scars on the man's face and smell the Rultheir on his breath as it gusted against his face. “As long as you live in this city, you work for me when I say you do.”

“Fuck you, Meeran.” Carver growled as he turned his back on the man, probably not the smartest idea he had when faced with a Mercenary. He knew Meeran though, he wouldn't stab someone he deemed a worthy opponent in the back. He thought himself too honorable for such deeds. Lucky for Carver he had been right, no blade had been buried in his back as he started moving away.

“Don't turn your back on me boy!” Meeran grabbed Carver's arm and jerked him back instead nearly knocking the boy off balance. “We are not finished here!”  
  
Carver ripped his arm from Meeran's grasp, a smirk crossing his lips as he looked over his shoulder. “Yes we are. Nothing you can do about it old man, you no longer hold our contracts. So I say again, fuck .. you.” Carver turned away again, moving down the alley the way he came. It had been a mistake to come, he knew it but despite his better judgment. Now he wished he had listened to himself rather then his coin purse, which was still half way from it's current goal. Money would come, he knew it. If it came a little slower, then the Tethras brothers would just have to deal with it.

“Your brother is still an apostate, Hawke.” Meeran jabbed a finger in the air at Carver's back. “Remember that before you continue down that road.” Meeran's voice was low, threatening, and grinning. The grin only grew wider, stained yellow teeth bared as Carver turned to look back at him. “I thought so. Now get back here, we are not finished by a long shot.” His arm dropped as he pointed at the ground in front of him.

Carver moved slow, eyes narrowing as he approached the man once more. He felt it, the cold white hatred that had been buried rushing to the forefront of his mind. He stopped inches from the other man, golden eyes blazing as he watched that vile grin threaten to split the man's head in half. “You wouldn't dare.” He growled between clenched teeth. “We spent two years working for you, we fulfilled our end of the contract.”  
  
“I've amended it.” Meeran laughed as he reached out grabbing Carver's wrist, keeping the hand that held the great sword pinned at Carver's side. “You work for me until I say otherwise, or you can kiss your big brother goodbye. What Jareth would have done to that pathetic piece of tail is nothing, _nothing_ , compared to what these Templars will do with him.” Meeran's hand tightened when he felt Carver tense, his own body reacting in a familiar way to that deadly glare. “And that's before they turn him tranquil, if they don't accidentally kill him first. Your choice Carver.” Meeran almost purred near Carver's ear. No doubt a memory less then a year old re-surfacing. _Him or you Carver, your choice. Either way I win._

Carver's arm jerked slightly as he took one more step forward, now standing chest to chest with the mercenary. He felt Meeran's hand tighten further, digging blunt jagged nails painfully into his wrist. His hand twitched again, as the other one brushed against the scabbard on his hip. Fingers finding and slowly wrapping around the old warm hilt of the smaller blade he kept there. “I would be very caref...”  
  
“Stop right there.” Meeran laughed again cutting off Carver's words. He had to tilt his head up slightly being this close to the boy. Carver had a few inches on him, but not even that could make Meeran back down. He knew the boy, knew him inside and out, both literally and figuratively. He knew which barb would sink the deepest, which would hurt the most when yanked. It always came down to family, a brother too pathetic and weak to care for himself. “If you want your secret to stay a secret, you will do what I say when I say. Secrets are as good as coin in the Marches, and apostates are gold. If you want to be a Marcher, your going to pay the price.”

Carver's face twisted into something ugly. He didn't know what it must have looked like, but it must have been something if it could make Meeran's grin slip so easily. The look that replaced the grin was something Carver wanted to remember for a long time. “In Ferelden a secret worth paying for, is a secret worth killing for,” Carver growled at the man. Meeran always knew how to get under his skin, but there was something Meeran failed to realize. Something a Ferelden learned young. If your going to collar a mabari, make sure you have more then one leash. “but very few secrets are worth dieing for. You should have left my brother out of it.” Carver said as his body jerked hard, turning slightly to his right as Meeran gasped as his blade slid between the crease of the mercenary's armor.

To say Meeran looked utterly surprised would have been the understatement of the age. Right under 'the Archdemon is just a big ol' lizard'. Carver only had a second to relish the look, to commit it to memory, before he pulled the blade from the man's side. Meeran stumbled back and looked at the blade in Carver's hand. It took another second for him to register the pain in his side, and the horror of seeing his blood covering Carver's hand. And then Carver pushed him, one hard shove in the center of his chest with that hand. Bloody hand print against the deep red iron before his heel hit the small lip of stone that bordered the canal. And then he was gone, disappearing with a loud splash.

Carver stepped up to the edge and looked down into the dark muddy water just in time to see the last of the man sink below the surface, his own armor pulling him down. Carver felt a grin spreading across his face. It twisted his mouth in a way he didn't recognize, and it was then he knew profound peace. Someone had told him once, murder wasn't the way to a clear conscience. But as Carver stood there staring at the water carrying runoff from the factories and the contents of every chamber pot in Lowtown, he would be inclined to disagree.

After another moment, he turned away wiping his dagger on his trousers and slid it in it's scabbard as he moved back down the alley. Carver felt a smug satisfaction at the so called consequences of his actions. Meeran was a man who surrounded himself by the worst and most pathetic scum in Kirkwall. With maybe one or two exceptions, not a one of them were leader types. Without Meeran the Red Iron would fall, and fall hard. They would start by fighting over Meeran's chair, something far too big for any of them to fill, and end up tearing each other apart. After, what was left would end up hanging from a length of rope.

Carver's smile didn't fade all the way home. Not even the smell of Coriff's experimental ales could dampen his spirits. “What's got you grinnin' like a whore on payday, boy?” Gamlen asked when he saw Carver grinning despite being bloody.

“Nothing.” He shook his head as he set his sword against the wall beside the door. “Nothing at all. Where is everyone?”  
  
Gamlen shrugged as he pulled his sweater over his head. His lucky sweater he called it, because every time he wore it to the rose, he got lucky. As if the coin in his pocket had nothing to do with it. “Your mom's up in Hightown having dinner with old friends. Calenhad you just missed, he ran off ten minutes ago with them girlfriends of yours.” A rather lecherous grin spread across Gamlen's face.

Carver snorted and rolled his eyes. “Where did they take him, please say they didn't actually make good on Izzy's threat and take him to the Rose.”

“Nah,” Gamlen said as he went out the door. “Some job at the docks.”

 


	12. Brother, Lover, Mine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Chapter reposted where it belongs*

_"What's it like, Calenhad?"_ Carver had asked once. Back when little brother had looked up to big brother, both figuratively and literally. _"It's... warm. Like hot milk after coming in from the cold."_ Had been his answer. An answer that paled to the truth.

The truth was he hadn't had the words to describe it back then. Couldn't even now if he wanted to. There was no words to describe the feeling of magic as it coursed through your body. The feel of the veil like velvet in your mind as you reached out and coaxed the power from the fade. The whispers of spirits and demons alike in your ear, like a frozen winter breeze across your flesh. The taste of spun sugar and rotted meat on your tongue as you muttered the ancient words of the arcane. The emptiness that overcomes your thoughts as you know nothing but the hard press of air, and the shrill screams of the mundane when your spells take form around you. It was something you could never truly describe in words, something only a mage could ever really understand and appreciate. The sudden feel of something so powerful and wonderful. And at the same time so vile and destructive.

It was something Calenhad knew better then most. The painful burn of his icy fingertips, or the soothing warmth of creation was nothing when compared to the ethereal weight of pure, raw energy. The ability to bend gravity to your will, lifting others as if they were specs of dust on a sudden gust of wind, or to crush them as easily as an ant under your boot. It was wondrous, and dangerous. How easily it was to forget, to lose control in the sudden wash of power. Unyielding discipline the Templars spent a lifetime to master, and many never came close. It was the one thing that could darken Calenhad's heart, the knowledge that he was one of few that controlled a force powerful enough to destroy villages and devastate armies.

It was also this knowledge that had made him both hate and fear his own magic most days. Knowing how easily he could lose control, fearing the day when he did. So many mages had traded their very beings to mimic such power, only to find their magic was tainted and twisted. Corrupted like the demons who infested their minds and devoured their souls. He'd once hoped he would never have to feel that kind of magic. The kind created in blood and fueled by the darkest part of a person's heart. The very magic all mundanes feared lurked deep within every mage.

He'd hoped he would never have to experience that kind of magic. But even the most powerful seer could not truly predict the outcome of one mages idiocy. He'd been lost in his own mind, lost to the outside world as he cast. It was the sound of his brother's voice that penetrated the veil, cut through the haze of the fade and pulled Calenhad back into the world. The sound of his own name in that panic stricken tone that had him turning toward the door. And then it hit him. Dark and cold as death, hatred and contempt. The dark will of another mage washing over his as he felt flesh tear and bones shatter.

And then everything went black.

 

..~~

The first thought on Carver's mind was I'm going to kill him. It was pretty much the only thought going through is head as he raced through the streets, dodging late night workers and sailors alike. He tried to concentrate on the sound of his feet against the hard packed ground, the sound of his heart pounding in his ears, anything to keep the darker thoughts at bay. There were a thousand different things that could go wrong without a real blade between a mage and whomever it was Izzy had taken his brother to face. And another thousand thanks to the templars just across the bay. It was the second that had his heart trying to fall into his feet. The thought of his brother being caught by the vile beasts of Kirkwall that were no better then those who called themselves the Red Iron. Worse if you count the fact the Templars had the power to reduce his brother to a soulless husk. Something to be used and abused as they saw fit.

The thought made the blood in Carver's veins run colder then the icy breath of Ferelden's winter. Their father had told them it was a fate worse then death. Carver had been inclined to believe it too. To be cut off from your magic, your memories, your emotions. He couldn't begin to imagine what it would be like to never care or love again. Never to dream or feel. It wasn't a fate he would wish on his worst enemy let alone his own brother. No matter how much his mother would argue how much easier all their lives would be without him. Carver shook his head as he approached the warehouses. A life without Calenhad was not something he was prepared to accept.

The sudden burst of light from one of the warehouses pulled his attention and told him he was in the right place. Harsh blue light spilling out between nailed up boards, the tell tale sign of the force magic his father had passed onto his eldest. He felt his heart quicken in his chest at the sight. On the one hand it gave him a destination, on the other it told him the fight had escalated to a point where simple was no longer applicable. Calenhad knew the risks of using such powerful magic, and if he was risking it... something was definitely not going according to plan.

Carver hit the door shoulder first and hurried down the entry way to where the fight was raging. Calenhad was there standing in the center of the room, his body ridged as he worked to keep control of his spells. Several men were pinned, wrapped in thick tendrils of dark, blue light while others were screaming as they were crushed by an invisible force. It was a combination of spells Carver had seen only three times, all three times were while they worked with the Reds. He was about to charge into battle when he saw a moment too late what was going to happen. Merrill was standing off to one side of the large room, the blood mist circling her body as she conjured her demon magic. Carver could almost feel it, the weight of her spell. He knew little of her magic, but by the looks it was massive, and if she released it toward her enemies...

"CALENHAD!" Carver screamed as he surged forward. His brother's head snapped toward him, hard, cold green eyes softening as the light around him dimmed slightly from the sudden change of concentration. And then like something out of a nightmare, he watched as his brother was hit by a massive wave of something dark, red, and evil.

He saw with vivid clarity and utter horror as his brother's body was lifted into the air and thrown across the room. He heard several snaps as the small frame hit the wall and fell limp and lifeless to the ground. The blue light in the warehouse winked out like a candle in front of an open window. No slow decay as the spells ran it's course, no bright burst of light as Calenhad released then early. It was just gone.

Carver's first thought was to rush to his brother's side, but the sound of battle raged on in the room around him and could not be ignored. He raised his sword and rushed into the fight. The fight was quick, bloody and merciless. Carver found his mark with each swing of his sword, felt the hot spray of blood on his face and hands as each of the thugs in front of him fell. The pained yells filling his ears as he moved with the speed and dexterity of a well trained fighter. And then everything was still, sans the sound of his breathing in the sudden silence. He turned and ran to his brother's side, falling to his knees as the feeling of deja vu washed over him. The second time he found himself here, kneeling beside the broken body of a sibling he could not protect. He reached out and paused, his hand shivering just above his brother's chest. He wanted to know, needed to feel the heart that beat within but feared he would feel nothing but stillness.

_Dear Maker no. Not him, please... not him. Curse you if you take him from me!_

 

..~~

_"Ser Hawke?" An almost familiar voice said somewhere deep in the haze of his mind. "Calenhad Hawke?" The voice sounded worried._

_Calenhad opened his eyes slowly, blinking back the light and trying to bring the figure that stood over him into focus. His first thought was horror as he realized the figure above him was a Templar. Shining shield in one hand, enchanted flaming sword in the other. Calenhad sat up a bit too fast, his head reeling as the ground tilted under him. For a moment the world seemed to dim, and then slowly come back into focus._

_"Easy Ser Hawke. I mean you no harm." The Templar said as he carefully sheathed his sword, the crystalline flames extinguishing as the blade disappeared from sight._

_Calenhad looked up trying to focus again. After a moment of staring he realized he was staring at the face of Ser Bryant, the Templar from Lothering who had taken over when the Arl and his men had abandoned them. "Your..." He frowned as he looked around his surroundings. He was in the fade that much was sure. But... "I didn't create you." He said as he tried to push himself up only to find his left leg wouldn't cooperate._

_"Of course you didn't. The Maker created me, just as he created the world." Bryant snorted as he stepped up beside Calenhad and offered his hand._

_Calenhad looked up at him dubiously for a moment before he took the offer and allowed himself to be pulled up to his feet. A wave of dizziness washed over him, every muscle in his body seemed to scream out in pain as the Templar wrapped one strong arm around his waist to steady him."I... hurt." he said confused as he leaned heavily on the other man, the hard steel making it a less then comfortable situation. "Where... Where am I?"_

_"You're in the Fade, big brother." A all too familiar voice said. "Even a dull-stone like you should recognize that."_

_Calenhad's head snapped up, his eyes pinned on the face in front of him. "Beth...Bethy!" He gasped as he stared at the woman before him. "It's... it's you. Really you." He whispered. It was Bethany. The one who died on the road to Denerim, not the imperfect clone he had created to fill the empty void in his dreams. He had tried so hard to recreate her and failed, but here she was standing before him... "Am I..." He tried to say but choked on the words._

_Bethany shrugged as she moved to take her brother's other arm and help him to move and sit on something that looked like a large rock. "I don't know. The spirits here are not very forth coming with their information. But if you had to ask, then my guess would be no. Do you remember what happened Cal-cal?"_

_Calenhad sat down with a sigh, the pain in his body seemed to be ebbing a little, but it still hurt. He'd never felt pain, real pain, in the Fade before. There was never any pain in the Fade, but then again this wasn't his part of the Fade. "Why are you here?" He asked the Templar instead of answering Bethany's question._

_"I died." The Templar said sadly. "I fell during the invasion of Denerim. The armies were late and we couldn't hold the gates." He shook his head. "So many died that day."_

_"I'm sorry." Calenhad said dumbly as he looked away from the pained expression on the other man's face._

_Bryant smiled softly. "It's ok. I was luckier then some. The horrors the Darkspawn can inflict on the living... It is not something I would wish upon anyone. Besides, had I not died I would never had been able to help your sister here."_

_Calenhad frowned as he turned to his sister. "What does he mean?" He asked sharply, thoughts of demons tormenting her, using her spirit for their own fun and games._

_Bethany shuddered at the memories of whatever had happened before the Templar intervened. "I was... trapped. Ser Bryant helped me stop the Nightmares." She answered and would say no more._

_"Is that what this is?" He asked as he looked up at the sky. The black city was there, it was always there, floating so close and yet so far away. "Is this a nightmare?" He looked up at his sister again. It didn't feel like a nightmare, not exactly but sometimes the fade could be tricky, especially when you didn't have a say on how you entered._

_Bethany laughed as she punched her brother in the arm, hard. "Oh thanks a lot Cal-cal! Your only sister is your idea of a nightmare! I come to keep you company and you call me a nightmare?! You ungrateful little tit!" `_

_"I didn't mean it like that!" He barked as he rubbed his arm. He sighed as he looked down at his feet, his mind a torrent of unanswered questions. "I just mean... I don't... I don't know how I got here." He was on the verge of tears as his mind wandered to other things. Things that he didn't want to lose, wasn't ready to leave behind just yet. And then one question came to the forefront of his mind. One he had wondered about for nearly two years "Bethany... Where did you go?" He looked over at her. "Why didn't you come home..."_

_"It's time for us to go." Bryant said in a clipped voice, cutting off the questions and turning away from the two siblings.._

_Calenhad looked up at the Templar, then followed the man's gaze toward something in the distance. It took him a second to figure out what it was he was looking at. Flowing red robes, deep crimson hair, the warm, soft glow to match. He couldn't help but smile as he watched the form approach them. "Hello Love." He said softly. "it's been a long time." he added pointlessly. Time for Spirits was a different thing entirely, if it existed at all._

_The spirit before him smiled as it used both hands to gently shoo away the others. Bethany moved quickly to Bryant's side, barely missing the flowing robes that came close to brushing her arm "I will see you later dear Brother." She said cheerfully before turning and following the Templar away."And try not to do anything else stupid. Maker knows Carver needs you more then we do."_

_"WAIT! Bethy please, don't go!" Calenhad said suddenly jumping to his feet despite the agonizing pain the action caused. He quickly regretted the action as he wavered on his feet, another bout of dizziness washed over him as his vision once again began to gray. The Spirit grabbed Calenhad's arm to steady him, the warmth of the spirit flowed freely from it's hand to Calenhad ,enveloping the mage in the gentle red glow._

_"We will have plenty of time later. Goodbye big brother! Take care of Mother and Carver for me." She smiled back at him before her form began to fade along with the Templar that walked beside her._

_"No! Love please! Another minute!" The mage pleaded with the spirit though he knew it was already too late. Bethany was gone, leaving just him and the spirit._

_Love shook it's head as it watched the mage with apologetic eyes. It smiled sadly as it reached out and pushed back Calenhad's hair from his face. Love's soft fingers brushed the mage's cheek in an almost intimate manor before leaning down and kissing the mage gently on the forehead, and Calenhad's mind went blank as his body filled with the warmth that Love possessed. Calenhad stood there, eyes blank as he watched the Spirit turn and walk away. Unable to breath, unable to move, unable to think as the light around him shimmered and faded. Like it's keeper, Love, fading away as his sister did in a flurry or flowing robes and a shimmering red mist._

 

 

..~~

 

Calenhad's eyes opened. The dim light from a candle was just bright enough, allowing him to make out the large spiderwebs draped between the weathered and warped wooden beams above his head. It wasn't a view he recognized, and for a moment he thought he was still in the fade. Another dream that wasn't his, only this time there were no familiar faces to welcome him. A darker side of the fade perhaps, a trap laid by the demons who ever craved the presence of the magic users. It was only a matter of moments before a large spider, or perhaps the demon itself lowered itself from the beams above, covering him and devouring him. And then he shifted, the sharp pain in his side clearing his head quickly and banishing such dark thoughts. He groaned slightly as he tried to sit up, only to feel a weight against his chest holding him down. He looked down and saw a hand over his chest, just above his heart and an arm a shade or two darker then his own and twice as thick. He followed the arm to the sleeping form at the edge of the bed. _Merrill's bed_. He thought as he glanced around the room, finally recognizing the decor, or lack there of.

"Cal?" Carver rumbled in a groggy voice as he removed his arm. "Maker's balls Calenhad!" Carver moved from the low chair he had been sitting on to the edge of the bed. He reached out slowly and took his brother's hand, as if he didn't believe he was really awake. "Thank the Maker Merrill didn't kill you."

"Merrill?" Calenhad frowned as the nights events began to slowly fill his thoughts. He remembered everything up to that moment. The moment he turned and saw his brother's face. The look of utter fear had been so out of place on him. And then there was the feeling of tearing flesh, his flesh. He reached down and raised his tunic, an old green thing several sized too big for him and not what he had been wearing earlier that day. He ran his fingers over a long scar that crossed his stomach, from his left hip to just below his right nipple. He had never had a scar before. Had never been hurt so badly he could not heal it completely. This wasn't his magic though, it must have been Merrill's work. She had never been a strong healer.

"Calenhad." Carver's voice had turned hard suddenly. "Look at me." He demanded.

Calenhad glanced up at him with wide, worried eyes. Just like Calenhad. Always the worrier, be it because something is wrong, or because he thinks he's in trouble. "Brother... Damn it... From now on you will take no job without me. I don't care who gives it to you." He reached up and brushed a few loose strands of hair from Calenhad's face. "Do you understand me?"

"Carver?" Calenhad frowned slightly.

"Listen to me." Carver said quietly as he cupped his brother's cheek. He stared down at his brother, his elder brother. The small framed man with the eyes of an innocent child. How hard it was at times to remember that Calenhad was indeed the elder son. His big brother. It had always been Carver that filled that roll, always the one to comfort or protect. How many times had he done so over the years, when Calenhad was hurt or afraid. When he was more the child then the man. "When I... When we lost Bethany..." Carver paused clearing his throat. "It was like half my soul died there on that road with her. Maker Cal, you have no idea what it's like. How hard it is to lose a twin."

Calenhad looked away from Carver, his eyes filling with unshed tears as he shifted his gaze to the floor. It had been his fault she had died. It had been his duty to protect her from the darkspawn, a promise he had made, a promise he had failed to keep. It was words Carver had heard a thousand times over since they had come to Kirkwall. Their mother's cruel words taking form in his own heart.

"Don't Cal." Carver's thumb slipped over his brother's cheek, gently tracing the firebird before catching the moisture that clung to his lashes. "Just listen. And look at me." He said softly as he forced his brother's gaze back to meet his own. "Today when I saw you laying there and I thought... I thought... I thought you were dead. It felt as if the other half of me would die right along with you. Maker Cal I..." Carver's voice broke as he forced himself to continue in a harsh whisper. "I can't lose you."

"Carver, " Calenhad frowned slightly. "I don't under...

Carver leaned forward quickly and suddenly. His lips gently covering Calenhad's, swallowing the question and the helpless moan that forced it's way from his throat. For one blissful moment Carver knew peace. It lasted only seconds, and then the warmth of Calenhad's lips disappeared as he jerked his head back and instinctively covered his mouth, protecting himself. Carver immediately regretted his boldness when faced with those startled emerald eyes. He suddenly needed to be somewhere, anywhere but here faced with his brother's disapproving stare and his own weakness. The stain on his soul that had tormented him for so long now laid bare. Carver turned away, fighting against the pained longing that told him to remain, and stood. He got only a single step before small smooth fingers so unlike his own grabbed his wrist and bid him stay, even before the words had been spoken.

"Wait Carver. Please, don't leave. I'm... I'm sorry I..." Calenhad paused as he pulled at his brother's arm. Carver had stopped moving, seemingly frozen in place. Unable to leave, unable to turn back. "Carver … please." Calenhad pleaded, begged.

Carver finally turned back, unable to resist Calenhad's pleas when they matched his own need so acutely. He slowly sat back down at his brother's insistence, and then after another moment of his brother's gentle pawing, allowed himself to be pulled down to lay beside Calenhad. Small, frail arms drew him down and into the very embrace he had hungered for for so long. He rested his cheek on Calenhad's throat with a silent sigh.

"I'm sorry... I didn't mean to... Carver... I mean we... Are you..." Calenhad stumbled over his words for several seconds before he finally bit down on his lower lip, silencing himself unsure of what to say or how to say it. But the flush that crept up his neck and across his cheeks spoke for him.

"I love you Calenhad. Too damn much." Carver said as he pressed a kiss to the ruddy skin that taunted him now with it's closeness. "I could never have lived with myself had you died without knowing that. Without me admitting this..." Another kiss, his tongue tasting Calenhad's pulse before he rose up to look down into his brother's face. "Was real." He finally finished feeling a surge of triumph wash through him as his brother looked up at him with eyes grown dark with desire.

"Carver." Calenhad whispered as his hand gingerly tangled in his brother's long dark locks. Carver's eyes drifted shut for just a moment, trembling at the feel of his brother's fingers against his scalp. But he could not ignore the tender insistence of his brother's hand as he gently tried to pull him down. Kiss me the gesture invited. Take me, make me yours. Carver leaned down slowly, giving his brother that last choice, and Calenhad's silence was more satisfying than any assurances he could have spoken. He claimed his brother's lips with all the pent up desire he had been so ashamed of. That he'd fought and been tormented by for so long. Mine Carver's heart hammered in his chest. At last, mine.

Calenhad did not pull away this time, but he did tense up for a moment. The last stab of guilt for their sin. And then his lips parted to Carver's questing tongue as his body became pliant and fluid in his brother's arms. Carver drew in a shuddering breath as he pulled away long enough to shrug out of his tunic. And then Calenhad's hands were on him, soft fingers and gentle caresses exploring and teasing his flesh until he knew nothing but the sweet fire they left in their wake.

..~~

 

Lazy kisses bled into an overwhelming sense of rightness as the two lay there in bed, damp naked bodies tangled together under a thin blanket. The herb sent of Calenhad's hair, the feel of his temple against Carver's lips, those slim fingers against his chest along with the tickle of his sleeping breath. These were the things Carver would keep in the secret places of his mind. These precious moments they had together. He doubted another opportunity such as this would present itself any time soon. The lonely ache the thought brought on was entirely different than the shameful hunger of before. He looked away into the darkness, trying to force away the knowledge of the coming nights in Gamlen's shack where Calenhad would be so close, and yet so untouchable. To linger on it would only invite anger, and now was not the time for such things.

"Something wrong?" The sleepy murmur, and the gentle hand on his arm, make his heart lurch.

"Nothing at all little bird. Nothing at all." Carver lied as he pressed his lips against the top of his brother's head. A lie, but Calenhad believed and snuggled against him.

 


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **_I Update!_ **

Calenhad lay there, staring silently up at the sky. The small rippling waves above him distorting the late evening sun, making it's light dance and sway, setting the icy waters on fire as it sought him in the darkness. The already low rumble of the waves as they passed were no more then a distant whisper to his ears so far below. Down where the currents made his hair tickle his face as it moved in and out of his vision, gently pushing his body inch by inch toward the beach.

Like the fade, the shimmering 'air' surrounded him, the dancing twisting light above, the ever shifting ground below, where the rocks scraped across his back and the plants caressed his arms and legs. No fears, no cares, no worries. Only the burning in his lungs as they cried desperately for fresh air, but even that was muted. A distant thought buried deep within his mind. He let out the breath he had been holding, watching with a small smile as the bubbles raced through the water to break on the surface. It really was beautiful down there. Cold, quiet, safe. The one place in the Free Marches, in all Thedas, that he could visit while awake with not a care in the world.

Varric sat on the beach watching the surface of the water. He had seen the boy go under but had yet to see him come back up for air. He had however seen the occasional disturbance as if a small burst of air had been let loose from somewhere below. “He's been down there a long time Hawke,” Varric said as he marked another disturbance, not far from the last one he had seen. “Are you sure Squab can swim?”

Carver shrugged as he gave the barest of glances toward the water, keeping most of his attention on the pot hanging over the fire. “He's fine.”

Varric shook his head as he turned his attention back to the fire, looking at the pot that Carver was busy stirring. Something the young man had called Ferelden stew. Varric thought the Ferelden part of the stew was the strange mossy taste hidden under the rest of the flavors. It wasn't bad, it was just.. different. “You know,” He finally spoke, “no matter how long I live among them, I will never understand magic users.”

Carver chuckled as he grabbed the bowls to dish out food for Varric and himself. “Varric my friend, I was born into magic and I still don't have a firm grasp on them.”

It was another fifteen minutes or so before they finally heard Calenhad break the surface of the water. Carver smiled as he watched Calenhad scramble up onto the beach to his pile of wet clothes and gather them up in his arms. “Nice swim?” Carver asked as Calenhad scurried past them toward the tents, wearing nothing but his smalls and a shivering pair of blue lips.

“Cold.” He mumbled through chattering teeth as he quickly rushed past the two men, dropping his pile of clothing just outside the tent and disappeared behind the flaps. It was one of two tents the boys owned, the other was set up nearby for Varric and the lyrium laced elf to share.

Carver was dishing out a tin of food for Calenhad when he finally emerged from the tent, fresh tunic clinging to his still wet skin. Calenhad gathered his wet clothes and laid them out on the sand, just near enough to the fire to catch the heat, but still far enough away that they wouldn't burst into flames from a sudden popping ember. “Thank you.” Calenhad said softly as he took the bowl from his brother and sat down beside him.

Carver nodded slightly, suddenly not trusting his voice as he watched his brother hunch over and blow over the contents of his dish. Calenhad's hair was un-braided, hanging free and wet against his skull, framing his gentle face. Carver's fingers itched to reach out an touch it, to push it back behind Calenhad's ear. He wanted to lick the small stream of water that ran down the side of his face and neck, to kiss the ocean salt off his brother's lips. Instead he turned and dished himself a second helping, not because he was hungry but to give his hands and mind something else to concentrate on.

“I don't get is Squab, you can breath water but you can't even start a fire.” Varric said as he pulled a small knife from his belt and began stripping a thick branch. “You always come up with new ways to surprise me. Keep it up kid, and I will have to start writing stories about you.”

“I can't breath water, and please for the love of Andraste, don't write about me.” He shuddered as he stirred a potato around his bowl. “I wouldn't make a good subject anyway.” He added as he thought of the last little 'story' Varric had written with Izzy. A bad joke they had written about Carver and the Viscount's son one drunken night at the Hanged Man. While the plot had been, though terribly told, true to life. It was what came after, the 'reward' that had Calenhad cringing, especially the part where the Viscount himself showed up.

Varric laughed as he looked up from his work. “Hey now,” He said as if he knew what Calenhad was thinking. “you're brother loved the last story we wrote for him. I think it was our best collaboration to date.” He winked at Carver.

Carver nearly choked on a mouthful of food before he finally managed to swallow it. “Varric, the day I drop to my knees in front of Saemus and... worship his Qun, I want you to take Bianca and put me out of my misery.”

“It was pray to the Qun, and admit it Hawke, the ending Rivani came up with was much more interesting then the seneshal telling you to go fuck yourselves.”

“I like the real ending better.” Calenhad mumbled softly.

“So do I big brother, so do I.” Carver smiled.

Calenhad went to bed soon after they finished eating supper, about the time Fenris returned from his long patrol. He wasn't so much tired as he was worn out. And he didn't really feel like sitting there listening to the rest of them talk business, going over the days battles, and planning on what would happen the next day. They had spent most of the day killing spiders and sylvan in the mines, and the rest hiking back along the wounded coast. That had been the worst part of the day in Calenhad's opinion. Under the warm sun covered head to toe in the slimy guts of a spider that had exploded right in front of him. He had never had that happen before, and hoped it would never happen again. He also found himself harboring new sympathies for Carver and Fenris.

There was also the fact Fenris still didn't quite trust him, so Calenhad tried to keep his distance, completely out of respect of course. No for fear of losing his head or anything of the sort.

He had dozed off, listening to the sound of the night time creatures, only to be woken again when Carver finally decided to retire for the night. Fenris always took first watch, which meant he would probably take second and third as well. The elf slept little, if at all when they were traveling away from the city. He briefly wondered if the elf ever slept. Calenhad waited till he felt Carver settle behind him before he rolled over to face his brother. He lay there silently watching until Carver finally opened his eyes and rolled on his side to stare silently back.

It was Calenhad who finally moved, slowly, inch by inch until there was little more then a hairs width between them. So close, closer then they had been since that night at Merrill's. A hasty stolen kiss before bed, a light brush of the hand as they walked down a tight alley. It was nothing like laying side by side, feeling the heat of each others bodies and sharing the same breath.

Carver was the one who finally closed the gap, his own dry chapped lips seeking out his brother's, warm soft and wet. He could smell the ocean still clinging to Calenhad's skin as he trailed small kisses over his brother's jawline and down his neck, licking the taste of salt that still lingered. His breath hitched when he felt Calenhad reach for him, a small hand sliding over his sides and down over the curve of his hip. 

Carver returned the touch, his rougher hand sliding under Calenhad's tunic, lips moving to catch the silent gasp that escaped from his older brother's lips. They had to be quiet, so quiet with Varric and Fenris across the fire chatting away with each other. Fingers slid across planes of flesh, the rolling of muscles under delicate finger pads. Carver's hip jerked slightly when he felt Calenhad's fingers finally slipped, cool and smooth and so very necessary, over his belly and beneath the waist of his trousers.

..~~

They made it back around mid day, hot and sweaty and ready for drinks down at the Hanged Man. First though, they had to go collect the money from the jobs they had done. Both for the Bone Pit, and a cave harboring half a dozen Qunari who had left the service of the Arishok. Calenhad wanted to go with his brother to collect the bounty on the rogue Qunari. He had never formally met a Qunari before and thought it would be quite the experience to meet with their leader. But Fenris had made it perfectly clear to them what they did to those who were born with magic abilities. While they were almost positive the Qunari wouldn't have cut his tongue out and collared him, they all decided it was for the best if Calenhad stayed clear of the encampment. Instead Calenhad split from the group and headed for Hightown's market district to claim the money due for the Bone Pit job. The rest of them headed toward the docks.

Calenhad didn't mind Hightown, especially when it came to the market district. The market place was always so packed with people, it was easy enough for him to move through the crowd without drawing too much attention to himself. Varric had told him once that Hightown was the best place in the Free marches for imports, everything from Ferelden to Seharon. Calenhad thought that was a bit of an exaggeration. Even Gwaren could have boasted about better imports then this place, had it not been trampled by Darkspawn. It was still a good sized marketplace, with a small section of Ferelden merchants who had come to peddle their wares. He was glad to see that Ferelden had opened up trading again, it meant his home was on the mend. He was tempted to buy a few bottles of ruelthir, but the price of it was enough to give him pause. While at home it was a cheap easy to get whiskey, here it was considered exotic with a price to match.

Eventually he made his way to the orlesians who occupied a good sized portion of the market. A great place for those who loved the more extravagant, and ridiculous, life style. It was Hubert he wanted to see though, a man who prided himself on the fact the Empress of Orlais sat her spoiled, pampered ass on one of his extremely overpriced silken pillows. It was a story he was telling a noble as he approached the man's stand. He stood off to the side, listening to the man's pitch while he looked at the silk cloth that hung from hooks on the side of the stand. They were quite beautiful, shades of red and blue and yellow that he had never seen in nature. But it was the faded dark greens he liked the best. They were the colors of Ferelden at the height of the warm season. Maybe he would have to buy some to decorate the walls of his room if they ever got the estate back.

“Aaahh monsieur Hawke.!” Hubert yelled in a thick Orlesian accent as he slapped Calenhad hard on the back, pulling his attention from the cloth and his thoughts. “I was hoping you would be back today! Some of my workers who had been missing returned late yesterday afternoon. They told wild takes of walking trees.” The man scoffed and shook his head. “But no worries, I had them beat for it.” 

Calenhad wrinkled his nose in slight disgust. “They are called sylvan, trees that are possessed by demons where the veil is thin enough for them to cross over.”

“Oh! So there really was.... “ the man cleared his throat and shook his head. “Well I am sure they deserved it anyway.” He turned away and dug in one of his trunks, pulling out a coin purse and a rolled up parchment. He handed both to Calenhad, who had a very confused expression on his face. “Don't worry my signature is all set, and all the proper seals are in place. I look forward to being you and your brother's business partners!”

Thank y... Wait, what?” Calenhad's blinked, his look of confusion deepening as he stared up at Hubert as if the man had just mistook him for King Cousland.

“Ah yes I suppose an explanation is required. I have decided, that in order to keep the Bone Pit working at peak efficiency, it would do me good to take on a partner or two.” Hubert gave one of his prize wining salesman smiles. “Most of my workers are in fact Ferelden, since most of Kirkwall believes in the curse of the Bone Pit. It seems only right that it be two smart, young, strong Fereldan boys to help me manage them.”

Calenhad pocketed the coins and unrolled the contract, thick smooth parchment that had to have cost the man a pretty copper itself. It was covered in seals and signatures, most of which he did not recognize but it didn't change the fact the thing was real. He and Carver each had a stake in the Bone Pit, thirty thirty forty. “I figured I should get a slightly larger cut, seeing as I put up the initial cost, I will be doing all the managing and procurement of mining equipment. But of course between the two of you, you now own the majority. You just need to show up at the mine once in awhile to get those dog lords working and keep the mines clear of... walking trees. Also pay for the necessities of life, such as food or entertainment, medical. That sort of thing. But do not worry I will manage the finances as well.”

Calenhad stared at the contract, reading it over and over trying to find a loop hole, or some weird clause, but the thing was iron clad, they, technically, owned more then half the Bone Pit fair and square. A small portion of their cut went to care and upkeep of the miners, which meant after all was said and done, Carver and Calenhad would get about twenty percent each. Still it was a lot.“We didn't do this job for a share in the mining rights.” Calenhad said as he rolled the contract back up and held it out to the merchant. “We don't want the Bone Pit.”

“Too late, it's already done.” He refused to take back the parchment. “Now first things first, you need to get the workers back to the mines. That is where you and your brother come in. You will probably find them in the Hanged Man.”

“No you don't understand,” Calenhad frowned still holding the contract up to the other man. “We.....don't....want.....the....Bone....Pit.”

“I want them back at work by tomorrow.” Hubert continued as if Calenhad was not even talking. “I will have new equipment and supplies hauled up there. There's a good boy.”

Calenhad just stood watching the man for several minutes as Hubert went back to work as if Calenhad wasn't still standing there like a dim witted oaf, arm still extended out in front of him. Eventually Calenhad turned away with a heavy sigh and tucked the contract into his belt. He wasn't sure how he was going to explain this to his family. He had one simple job, collect the gold and come home. He had the gold, but the responsibility of a silver mine was much more then they had bargained for, especially just this side of their Deep Roads venture. Not to mention silver mining was not something any of them knew a lick about.

He walked slowly, taking the longer way home down to the docks past the Qunari compound in hopes of catching a glimpse inside, but the gates were already tightly shut by the time he reached it. That probably meant Carver was already at home waiting for him. He took the stairs that would lead him up past the alienage, it wasn't the longest path he could have taken but it certainly wasn't the shortest either. He even debated on stopping at Merrill's for awhile, but the Templars had stepped up the patrolling in the alienage because of the young mage they had rescued from slavers. In fact they had stepped up the patrol in just about every part of the city.

“.... you were paid.” Leandra's voice drifted out from the hut they called home.

“Yes mother, of course I was paid. I still did the job.” Calenhad could hear the annoyance mixed with wariness in Carver's voice as he entered the house.

“And there you are, finally. I hope you at least got what we were owed.”

Calenhad wrung his hands together in front of himself, looking from Carver's face to his mother's then back. “Sort of. I got...”

“Great! You boys really need to start paying more attention to the jobs you take.” Leandra huffed as she paced back and forth. “Both of you boys are so disappointing sometimes. Seriously,” Leandra sighed “You two don't get this from my side of the family that's for sure.” 

“It's not.....” Calenhad said softly. “I...”

“You screwed up, that's what you did. Like you always do. But it wasn't your fault right, always the same story with you Calenhad. Sometimes.....”

“Mother, please!” Carver barked from where he stood near the hearth. “Not all jobs turn out as expected. Besides can we hear what he says before you start in on him?” Leandra gave him a look that could curdle milk, but was surprisingly silent. “What happen Calenhad?” Carver turned to his brother.

“I got paid.” Calenhad pulled the pouch of coins from his pocket and held them out to Carver. It wasn't anything new, these arguments they had. They had become increasingly more common over the last few months, and not all of them were about Calenhad. And some of those arguments had been over the stupidest things, like who stacked the cords of firewood bark down.

“Well at least there is that.” Leandra stepped forward and snatched the money from him before Carver had a chance to take it. “That's all you had to say... There isn't much in there. But at least it's something. Such a big deal over nothing.”

“Well..” Calenhad started as he pulled the contract from his belt and held it out to Carver, who was quicker then his mother this time.

Carver unrolled it and read over it, his forehead creasing deeply making him look much older for a moment. “Calenhad, we didn't agree to this.”

“I know! I know...” Calenhad huffed. “I told him that too. But he already had it written out and sealed before we even got back! I don't know, he just wouldn't take no.”

What is it for Maker's sake?” Leandra snatched the contract from Carver causing him to hiss slightly as the thick paper opened up his palm as it slid through his fingers. “How did you get this?”

“He just gave it to me. I swear it was signed and ready when I got there, I didn't ask for it.” Calenhad said as he almost too quickly grabbed his brother's hand and held it gently in his own as he let the cool blue glow spread. It was stupid, healing a paper cu that barely bled, but it was an excuse to touch him, even if it was just for a brief second. He saw it in Carver's eyes too, the secret grin he couldn't wear for anyone else to see. Calenhad dropped his brother's hand and turned toward their mother, who was still looking over the contract. “What's the catch?”

“There is no catch. He manages everything, we keep the mines clear of spiders and we own sixty percent between the two of us. More or less.”

“Well this is something, it might even be worth it in the end.” She paused. “Good job son.” She added in a way that looked almost painful for her to say. She rolled the contract back up and started to turn toward her room. Carver reached out and quickly plucked the document from his mother's hand, earning another ugly glare.

“I will keep this with the other contract. Better to keep them together.” He said and turned quickly toward their room before his mother could protest.

Calenhad coughed, using it as an excuse to cover his mouth with his hand to hide the small grin that bloomed across his mouth. He followed Carver into the room and closed the door behind him. “Mom kept the money.” He said as he watched Carver add the contract to the rest of their secrets hidden under the floor.

“I know, but we only need a couple more gold. Hopefully the money you got from the Orlesian will be enough to keep her satisfied for awhile.” He slid the board back in place and stood rubbing his hands on his legs. “You remember that Warden Varric and I met with before we headed out to the coast?” Calenhad nodded and Carver sat down on his bed. “Varric got a message from him this morning. He said if we help him with a favor in a few days he will give us the maps we need.”

“That's great, whats the job?”

Carver sighed and looked at Calenhad with that all too familiar look. That one that said Carver was once again in that overly protective 'you can't come with' mood. “I want you to sit out on this one.”

“Why?”

“Not that it matters why, but Templars might be involved. Please just trust me.”

Calenhad sighed melodramatically. “Fine.” He huffed as he glared across the room at his brother. He hated when his brother tried to shield him from danger, ever since his brother out grew him it had been that way. At least now when Carver did it he didn't treat Calenhad like a child made of Orlesian glass. It was still a little humiliating though, even though he completely understood it. Calenhad and Templars did not mix well. He watched Carver cross the room toward him and duck down, giving Calenhad a quick kiss on the forehead. The simple gesture was enough to melt Calenhad's glare and replace it with a pair of slightly darkening cheeks. “I hate you.” Calenhad whispered as he narrowed his eyes at his brother, trying to hide the smile that threatened to break out.

“I know my dear brother.” Carver smiled as he turned and headed back out.


	14. A bargain struck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *Warning for game canon junkies. Major variation ahead :P not sorry*

Calenhad wrung his hands together in front of his stomach, eyes darting everywhere except directly at the horned beast in front of him. Or the three directly behind him he was sure were just waiting for the order to shear his head clean off his shoulders. He had complained a few times about never being allowed to step foot in the Qunari compound, even if he had completely understood the reasons behind it. Qunari were not known for their loving care of magic wielders. He had none the less been extremely curious about them. As it turned out, the idea of seeing the compound was far more intriguing then actually standing in the center of it. He was already ready to be anywhere else in Kirkwall, sans maybe the gallows, at that very moment. The armored hand that dropped heavy on Calenhad's shoulder that was meant to help reassure him instead did little more then hold him in place, and keep him from bolting straight for the gates.

If he was really honest with himself, he would have to admit being there was almost as fascinating as it was terrifying. All the Qunari he could see were men, shirtless and covered in some kind of red paint. He wondered if they ever got cold during the winter months, and if they wore tunics to keep warm or just cloaks. The Arishok in particular held his curiosity, when he dared to sneak a look. His horns were enormous, so big in fact Calenhad was almost surprised the man could keep his head up for so long. No one else in the compound who had horns were no where near in size. But they were all unique which made them no less interesting. They grew in all shapes and sizes which made Calenhad wonder if it was from family traits or if they forced their horns to grow in specific ways. Like the Dalish did to the Halla. And why some of them had no horns at all.

Fenris yelled something at the Arishok in the Qunari's native language loud enough to pull Calenhad's attention again. He watched in horror as the Arishok stood up and took a few steps down from his throne, waving his hand in a big arch and yelling back, his voice deep and loud echoing off the tall walls that had been built around them. Calenhad took a step backwards and sideways to partially hide himself behind the giant mage, who was without a doubt the reason for all the yelling and arguing. He couldn't understand a word Fenris and the Arishok were yelling at each other, but if he was a betting man it had to do with one, the 'Saarebas' they had brought back alive without it's Avaraad, and two, the sarabaas followed a non-Qunari Saarebas. According to what Fenris had told him earlier, the Qunari mage should have turned himself over to death by the hand of the Avaraad they had met on the beach. Had the shadowed demon not shown up first.

His thoughts flipped back to the moment on the beach where they had met the small squad of maybe half a dozen Qunari, an Avaraad and his war party. They had wanted to take Ketojan away and execute him for being a mage without a leash. The bigger problem came when they realized Calenhad was a mage as well and decided he needed to die too. All in the name of the Qun of course. Bas Saarebas they had called him. A dangerous one not of the Qun according to Fenris' translations. But the demon had interrupted them before they could claim his head. It had come out of no where and slaughtered the Qunari war party while the rest of them took off, because no way were they going to beat that thing. Calenhad shuddered slightly at the thought of the thing. The thing was huge, pitch black with yellowed teeth, thin long limbs that literally dripped shadows from claws the length of a butcher's knife. None of them could claim they had ever seen one before, or give it a name. He remembered how it felt, powerful, desperate, hungry. He hoped he would never see it's like again.

The Arishok eventually turned his attention to Ketojan, who stepped forward and knelt dutifully at his leaders feet. The Arishok spoke to Ketojan as he held out the broken control rod. Calenhad was to thank for that when he, like an idiot, snatched it from the Avaraad when they ran and then tried to use it. He guessed he was probably pretty lucky Ketojan hadn't smashed his head in when the rod gave a loud pop, giving the large mage a nice little shock when it broke. Ketojan nodded and gave a few grunts, never raising his head as the Arishok asked what sounded like a dozen or more questions. At one point both of them turned to look at Calenhad, the Arishok speaking and Ketojan shaking his head. Calenhad hoped that it meant Ketojan was telling the Arishok that Calenhad's head was just perfect where it currently sat, and they probably shouldn't move it. After another minute or two, Ketojan stood and stepped back. The Arishok then turned his eye on Calenhad.

“You, Bas Saarebas. Do not speak, just listen. You speak, you die.” The Arishok's icy glare seemed to cut through Calenhad like a knife. “Saarebas has task he's not completed. He will live, but he can not stay among us. Not without Avaraad, and not without control rod.” The Arishok threw the seemingly useless piece of wood at Calenhad's feet. “He is now yours. You will see to him. If he dies in your care, you die.”

Calenhad opened his mouth to protest when one of Fenris' tattooed hands smacked him, a little too hard, on the mouth while the other smacked against the back of his head and squeezed painfully, effectively stopping any sound from popping out. Calenhad looked up at the elf who was glaring down at him with a look Calenhad could not pin a word on. There may not have been a word invented in any language to classify how pissed off Fenris was looking at that moment. 

“Go.” The Arishok dismissed them as he scaled the steps and took his place back on his throne.

Fenris held his hand over Calenhad's mouth crushing his lips against his teeth until he was certain Calenhad's objections died in his throat, then removed it and stormed off toward the gate. Calenhad swallowed, fighting the urge to say something as he picked up the control rod and stared down at it. Ketojan touched Calenhad's shoulder and urged him to turn and leave, ushering him quickly toward the gate.

The gate to the compound slammed shut behind them and Fenris turned. Before anyone could react, or even notice it was or had happened, Calenhad was in the dirt holding the side of his face with Fenris standing over him breathing heavily, his hand still in a tight fist at his side.

“Fenris! That is enough!” Aveline shouted as she put herself between the two and shoved Fenris back a step.

“It's ok Aveline.” Calenhad said softly as he stood up and brushed the dirt from his pants. “I sort of... I deserved it.” He admitted, his eye tearing up from the pain that now throbbed along the side of his face. “It could have been a lot worse.” Calenhad added. He had of course been talking about the punch to his jaw, but Fenris seemed to think he was talking about the Arishok.

“It could not possibly get any worse.” Fenris said as he waved his hand toward Ketojan. “Another mage, this one a Qunari. Tell me Calenhad, how do you expect to hide a Saarebas?”

“I don't know.” Calenhad sighed as he collected the fallen rod. “I.. don't know.” He wiped at his lip, feeling blood smear across his hand and the sting of a small cut on his lip.

“And you _Guard Captain_ ” The words were spoken with much more disdain then was necessary. “What do you expect to do with a damned Saarebas? As if we don't have enough mages on the loose already.” Fenris shook his head and rubbed his temple with two fingers. “You people try my patients.” He looked over at Calenhad then Aveline. “One of these days you will get caught helping these.... mages. When that day comes, do not expect me to take the fall with you.” He growled and turned toward the stairs, taking them two and three at a time back up to Hightown.

“That is a bit of a problem.” Aveline sighed when Fenris finally disappeared at the top of the stairs. “It's not like you can keep him at Gamlen's house.” She glanced up at the large mage who just stood there watching them.

Calenhad snorted at the idea of Ketojan trying to live with them in Gamlen's shitty little hovel. Gamlen would surely have a fit, and his mother. The sheer look of horror on her face would be worth it if he wasn't sure it would be the stick that broke the horses back. No doubt she would have ran all the way to the gallows and had the Templars back at their house within the hour.

“Maybe Merril's?” She mused.

“I don't think that would work. A Qunari mage in the alienage would stick out more then Fenris pissed off at night.” That earned a small chuckle from Aveline. Calenhad sighed as he rubbed the sore spot on his jaw, no doubt it was already beginning to bruise, but it really could have been much worse, he could have been glowing. Fenris was known for his quick temper, especially when it came to all things mage. Calenhad thought, considering the hate Fenris had of magic, the lyrium laced elf was actually extremely tolerant of their situation. If that meant Calenhad had to take a punch once in awhile, well it was a price he was willing to pay to keep them all out of the Gallows. And the heart squishing elf on their side. “There might...” Calenhad started then cut himself off and shook his head.

“What?”

Calenhad poked at his lip with his tongue and made a small clicking noise between his teeth. “Well I was going to say maybe Xenon. But I don't know if I could get Ketojan down there.”

“I hate when you go down there without us.” Aveline wrinkled her nose. “The Black Emporium. What kind of name is that anyway?” It was of course a rhetorical question.

“That's not my fault.” Calenhad grumbled. 

Aveline sighed as she stared up at Ketojan. “I suppose you don't have much of a choice. There is no place else we can hide him. Especially this close to the venture.” She sighed again and nodded. “Ok. But be careful Calenhad. The tunnels are dangerous. And there is no telling what that Chantry sister and her templars are up to.”

Calenhad nodded and smiled slightly. “The tunnels are mostly unused, and besides I have Ketojan this time.”

“Which might be part of the problem.” She looked between the mages and sighed. The longer they stood they stood there, the more likely they would get caught by a wandering templar. “Fine, but if you're not back by midnight I'm coming after you. Good luck.” 

Calenhad Watched as Aveline mounted the stairs to Hightown and then turned his attention to Ketojan. He waved the giant to follow him, and headed toward the shaky manual lifts that would take them to Darktown. The way to the Emporium would take them into the old Amell 'Wine Cellar'. It was an odd feeling when he realized they had literally passed up an entire system of tunnels when they had raided the Amell estate. They were all sure they had searched the cellars thoroughly, but maybe that was the part of the magic that was protecting Xenon and his emporium.

Calenhad lit a small floating orb of light as they entered the secret tunnel system. He didn't like using the orb, usually opting for a more subtle approach his father had taught him and Bethany shortly before they had to flee Highever one moonless night. But he had never cast the spell on anyone else, and wasn't about to experiment with the idea on an eight foot mage who didn't need magic to smoosh him into a fine paste should he screw it up. 

Calenhad slowly led the Qunari down a series of old tunnels that looked as if they hadn't seen many living creature short of rats in a very long time. Every tunnel he walked down were littered with bones, some older then others but all probably dating back to a time even before the Amell cellars existed. More likely then not, they were old Tevinter slaves who had been killed in mass and dumped like so much trash. The city was known for it's dark past, dozens if not hundreds of elven slaves slaughtered at a time to fuel magics of the corrupt magisters. A corruption that had tainted not just city, but the land that surrounded it, and to this day remains infinitely strong.

Calenhad paused for a moment at a small junction and looked around. There were a number of tunnels that lead off in different directions, each nearly identical looking to the next. This was the biggest problem when he was trying to search for the place. It wasn't that he couldn't remember which tunnel to take, it was the fact that the tunnels literally changed. Some times he would stop in a place that had only two tunnels branching off of it, but the next time there could be as many as a dozen. The only thing he could do was wait, which is what they did now. Calenhad was beginning to think this was going to end up being a bad idea. The longer they had to wait, the more sure he was that they would not be allowed in the shop. Ketojan had never been invited, and it was that little fact alone that had worried Aveline in the first place.

Calenhad had received the odd invitation a few weeks before. A small black parchment sealed with black wax and magic runes penned in silver ink that twisted and drifted across the page. Silver runes that, at his touch, slid into place to form letters and words. He had shown the page to his brother who had developed a rather painful headache after claiming he didn't recognize, nor could he read the odd runes. He had shown it to both Aveline and Gamlen as well, who both claimed the same problems before he decided no one else needed to see it. The first time he had descended into the underground to find the shop, he had gone on his own. The place had been so amazing that the second time he went he had taken his brother, only to end up lost somewhere in the old tunnel system. It had taken them hours to find their way back out. He had tried again a few times after, taking a combination of himself, Carver, and Aveline. He learned it was only when he went alone could he find the place. No invite, no admittance. Merrill had received an invite a week later.

He gave a quiet sigh of relief when he felt it. The smallest pull against his magic that told him which tunnel he needed to travel. He hadn't expected it, because he had Ketojan, but he had been hopeful. He knew Xenon was behind it, the proprietor of the emporium knew much, a little too much in Calenhad's opinion. But at least it seemed to pay off this time around. After another fifteen minutes of twists and turns they came to a dead end of smooth unblemished rock. Calenhad reached out and placed his hand against the unnaturally warm stone, letting the smallest amount of magic flicker through his fingers, and the wall swung open on unseen hinges. “Thank the Maker.” He mumbled quietly as he stepped into the lit room.

“Master Xenon?” Calenhad called as he crossed the bridge, as if the owner would have actually been out of the shop.

“What issss... thisss.... you bring. * Wheeze* to meee.... Little Bird.” Xenon let out a wheezing chuckle.

Calenhad wrinkled his nose, Xenon seemed to know everything about everyone, and he never let Calenhad forget it. He stopped at the display that stood in the center of the shop. A very large, and tall case that held what looked like the remains of more then one corpse fused together on a large but simple looking wooden throne. The entire case pulsed and hummed with the same magic that had led him through the tunnels, though far more powerful. “He's a ...friend.” Calenhad answered finally as he focused on the abomination in the case. He wasn't sure if Xenon still, or ever, inhabited the thing but it was an easy enough focus point none the less.

What is it... you offer....... young Hawke.... I do not..... harbor refugeesssss for.... free.”

Calenhad blinked, starting at the thing behind the glass for several seconds before he shook his head. It never failed to amaze him, or creep him out, how Xenon always knew exactly what it was you were coming for. “I... he.... err... I mean...” He stumbled over his words. He hadn't thought about what price he would have to pay to hide not just a mage, but a qunari mage in the emporium. “I don't have much. I have a few gold... and some magic staves.” He offered slowly. “I will have more when I return from the Deep Roads... More then enough to pay you. In the meantime I am sure Ketojan can do some things to help out around here.”

“Why are you.... here.... Ssssaarebasssss? Your people..... won't they.....* Wheeze*.... want you …... back?” Behind him Ketojan grunted a couple times and Xenon burst out into one of his loud echoing laughs that sent chills up Calenhad's spine. “Do you really think *Wheez * I can not see?” Ketojan grunted again, once, and fell silent.

“You can understand him?” Calenhad asked.

“The Qunari ssspeak..... with more then..... jussst... wordsssss. Subtlety in movementssss...... can be....... jusssst.... as loud.” Xenon chuckled.

Calenhad raised an eyebrow at that. When Ketojan spoke to the Avaraad, he had wondered how they communicated. The Qunari seemed the type who would find the use of magic to communicate a terrible idea, but he hadn't thought about some sort of sign language or body language. It made sense for such a closeted people. 

“Ssssoo.... let usss get back to...... price.... I do not....care * Wheeze* For gold.” Xenon chuckled again. “A simple trade.”

“What is it you want to trade?” Calenhad asked. 

“The mirror.” 

Calenhad glanced at the mirror with a frown. “I don't....”

“Touch the mirror..... That issss all....... you have...... to do.”

Calenhad looked back at the display. “But.... Why?”

“Does it matter!” Xenon barked in one of those rare moments when his voice came fast and clear with none of the normal wheezing or pauses. “Touch it and save your Saarebas, don't and he dies!” Xenon's voice was loud in and around his head.

Calenhad flinched back a step. Then looked over at the mirror with an unsure expression. He wasn't questioning IF he would do it, he already knew the answer to that. He had, without even speaking, given Xenon leave to name whatever price he wished. It was the mirror itself that put him on edge. The thing was like nothing he had ever encountered before. The magic was... Calenhad couldn't think of a word for it. It was heavy, thick, and extremely ancient. Maybe even a little mischievous. It gave him the chills, but it wasn't dark, not in the modern sense of the word. Whatever it was, he didn't like the way it pulled at his own magic.

“Touch it.” Xenon whispered. “Touch it!”

Calenhad stepped up to the mirror and stared into it, watching as the silver surface of the mirror swirled lazily at first, and then quickened the closer he got. He stood there watching as a vague shadow began to form, roughly the size and shape of his own body. All around him he could feel, more then hear, Xenon's laughter as he reached out and placed his fingertips against the surface. The glass, if you could call it that, vibrated under his fingers, warm and smooth. He could hear the hum of it's magic in his mind, an oddly soothing feeling as he ran his fingers across the surface, entranced by the look and feel. And then he felt a sudden prick on one finger, small and quick. He would have thought himself imagining it if he hadn't pulled his hand back and watched as a single drop of blood stained the otherwise flawless surface, and then disappear.

“Dear Maker.” Calenhad whispered as he held his hand against his chest. He watched as the shadow began to form more then just vague shapes. It began sprouting actual limbs, hands, fingers. The head began to form hair and a face, his face. He watched as his nose and mouth formed, ears that stuck out just a little too far, and last the eyes. Closed eyes that opened to show his own green orbs, the whole process was more then a little unsettling, it made the hairs on the back of his neck and on his arms stand on end. “Blood magic?” His finger flashed a dim blue, instinctively closing the wound that, realistically, couldn't even be called a real wound. It left no scar though, which answered his question even before Xenon had. No mage he had ever heard of could close a wound made from demon fueled blood magic without leaving a scar, not even his father had had that ability.

“If by blood magic...... you mean...... it usessss..... blood then..... yesssss. You people these dayssss.... use that word...... like it wassssss. …. dirty. Filthy Chantry lies!” Xenon spat. “Blood is the base.... of all.... * Wheeze* magic.... Jussst becaussse.... blood can fuel...... a sssspelll doesssn't make....... it evil.” Xenon paused, then laughed again. “Do not worry....... little bird.... * Wheeze * There is no.... demon.... that will.... benefit...... But enough....... our transaction is complete, you may go!”

“But what just happen?” He couldn't seem to tear his eyes away from his new, he didn't want to call it a reflection because it wasn't. It seemed more of a lifeless copy then a reflection. It stood there in the mirror unmoving, staring back with empty soulless eyes. “That..... What is this, Master Xenon?”

“Thatssss... no longer... your.... concern. … It will have no..... impact..... on your...... life. Now GO!”

Calenhad heard the golem on the other side of the shop move and decided to obey Xenon's demand. He headed toward the door, stopping beside Ketojan for a moment. “You will be alright?” he asked, not that it would have mattered now anyway. Ketojan nodded, and then ushered Calenhad toward the bridge. Cal nodded back and quickly made his way out of the shop and back into the pitch black tunnels. He stood outside for several minutes after the door swung shut behind him, worrying over not just Ketojan, but what the void he had just traded. Every mage knew even a small drop of blood to the wrong person could be disastrous. He didn't THINK Xenon was evil. Ok that was an outright lie, he was pretty sure Xenon was, for lack of a better term evil, but not malicious. Not pointlessly anyway and Calenhad was pretty sure he hadn't done anything to offend the proprietor of the Emporium. Calenhad sighed and finally muttered the words of his sight spell, and headed back to the surface.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slow updates. Health issues limit my work but I will try to update at minimum once a month. As time goes I hope to up that back up to two as I once did. But don't quote me on that..
> 
> And OMG I can't wait to get to the deep roads! SOOON VERY SOON!


	15. It's Warden Magic, I swear

Carver let out a small grunt as he scaled the last set of stairs that would lead them all to the farthest, darkest, and possibly the most dangerous corner of Darktown. The tunnels and mines excluded. Not only because of the high body count, but because of the cliffs. Darktown sat in the cliffs side, carved out of the rock face long ago. The corner they now entered hung out over the cliff with nothing but a rickety wooden banister to keep someone from being blown over. It made a small amount of sense why the apostate warden would set up a house of healing there, even if it was completely mental. No one but the truly needy would wander back there.

“Fuck.” Carver grumbled as he fell against the wall and slid down into a sitting position. His side still felt as if it were on fire as he pressed his hands harder against the wound, feeling a fresh stream of blood ooze between his fingers. Of course it had been a bad idea to help the mage, even if Fenris hadn't spent the better part of a week harping on about it. Mages who openly defied Templars usually ended up getting them and their friends killed. Carver's Uncle had once called him a collector of oddities, only in Carver's case the oddities were in the form of strange friends rather then Orlesian trinkets. And that one day it would catch up to him and he would have to pay the price. As Carver looked at the bloody ruined Tunic he thought that day might have come early, and Anders wasn't even one of his oddities.

“Bring him inside and get him on one of the tables.” Anders said as he unlocked the door and quickly disappeared into the clinic.

“I am going to punch that elf right in the face when I see him.” Isabela growled as she and Varric helped Carver find his feet. They half dragged him, half carried him into the clinic and to the nearest thing that passed as an exam table. 

The place looked almost as bad as it smelled. Wet wood and rotting meat mixed with the smell of the herbs and oils the mage used on a daily basis in his craft. The beds, if you could call them that, were barely more than hay stuffed cots on stilts, balanced on an uneven dirt packed floor covered in old straw mats. Thick dirty leather tarps were nailed to the ceiling and over the banister that opened out toward the ocean to keep out as much of the weather as possible. Stripped pieces of cloth hung from the high ceiling beams and no telling how many dead rats and large spiders were hidden in the shadows. The place needed a good fireball cleaning if Carver had any thoughts on it.

“Come now Rivani, can you blame him? Between Daisy and the Squab we are lucky Broody hasn't turned us all into the gallows already.” Varric said as he helped Carver lift his leg up onto the table. “Bad enough we were helping a mage defy the circle. Had he been there to see the abominations light show, we would never have made it out.” Varric leaned against the next table over and folded his arms over his chest. “Let's face it Rivani, Broody ditching us is the best thing right now.”

“The name is Anders.” The mage huffed as he returned from the back room, wiping his hands dry on a surprisingly clean rag. “I would prefer that to abomination if you don't mind.” He moved to stand beside Carver and quickly, but carefully, began removing the warriors damaged clothes. “I was hoping it would go much more smoothly then that. I had no way of knowing we were headed into a trap.”

“I told you sweet thing, we should have brought Cal with us. Baby boy's shield could have been helpful.” Izzy watched with poorly veiled concern as Anders worked.

“I'm glad he didn't come.” Carver winced, eyes fluttering slightly, “He doesn't have a good track record with Templ....AH FUCK!” His eyes flew open again as Anders tore a burnt piece of leather off his thigh, along with what felt like most if not all of the skin beneath it. 

“Who is Cal?” Anders asked as he surveyed the damage. The damaged skin covered a lot more area then the burnt armor let on, but it was still not as bad as Anders had feared. The worst part was the gash in the boy's side, left there by the blade of a Templar. The rest of the damage was just burnt flesh that could easily be mended.

“None of your business.” Carver answered quickly, giving his companions a sideways glance. He winced again as a sudden burst of magic hit him and began it's course through his body. The feel of it was so familiar and yet so very foreign. He had only been healed by few mages, first his father then Calenhad. But he had never felt a healing spell quite like the one Anders used on him now. It felt, heavy. A weight made of energy pushing down on him, through him, every muscle in his body warming to the touch of the magic. He could also swear he had heard more then one voice whispering, echoing in his ears and in his head. It was an odd sensation, not at all painful and no where near unpleasant. The latter Carver found a bit disturbing and very uncomfortable.

“Look,” Anders said after a few minutes. “I said I was sorry.” The stern look of concentration melted from his face as the spell dimmed and then sputtered out. He picked up the rag and carefully removed as much blood and blackened skin as he could from Carver's body. “It's not like I knew they were goin....” His hands paused briefly along with his words, then continued their work as he cleared his throat. “Karl was a good man, a great friend, and they killed him.”

“If memory serves, it was your blade embedded in your friends belly.” Varric huffed as he fiddled with his crossbow. 

“Harsh.” Isabela snorted.

“It's ok.” Anders sighed as he set aside the bloody rag and ran his hands gently over the newly healed wounds. The pinkish colored flesh was soft and smooth, under his fingertips, but of course it wasn't going to stay that way for long. In a day or two no one would even know it had ever happened. He was glad most of the Templars they had faced were young and new. He knew all too well how much damage a well placed Templar spell could do with a seasoned Templar behind it. “But you are wrong, Dwarf. He was dead before we found him. No mage should ever have to endure the rite of tranquility. It is a fate far worse then death, especially in this city.” Anders pulled his hands back when he realized he was more caressing his patient then examining him. “You will feel a bit woozy for awhile, you lost a lot of blood. Nothing I can do about that.” He said as he pulled a small bottle from one of his many hidden pockets. “You will be sore for a day or two as well. But you will heal. Drink this now and if you start to feel sick later on, Elf root tonics and rest should help.”

Carver sat up with a small grunt, swinging his legs off the edge of the table as he snatched the bottle. “Thanks.” He mumbled grudgingly as he downed the bottle and winced at the taste. “And the maps?” 

Anders gave a small smile that didn't come close to reaching his eyes as he reached down the front of his jacket. He pulled out a roll of parchment tied together with tattered ribbon and held them out to Carver. He couldn't help but chuckle at the face Carver made as he snatched the papers from Anders hand. “To be fair, I didn't think we would be coming back here. I figured you would want to part ways as soon as possible so I brought them with me.”

Carver just sighed and shook his head as he handed the papers over to Varric who immediately tore the ribbon off and began leafing through them. Carver watched quietly, partly trying to clear his head, partly to see if it was all the dwarf had hoped for. A small smile started crossing Varric's lips, the bigger it got the better Carver started to feel. At least then it seemed the night wasn't completely in vain.

“Listen.” Anders sighed as he leaned back against one of the other tables and crossed his arms over his chest. “I would live a happy life if I never saw the deep roads again. But I owe you a great debt, so if you need me on your venture I will be more then willing to grant you my services.” Anders offered as he watched Carver slowly strap on what was left of his tunic.

“You can clean up at my place Hawke. Baby bird might get a little worried if he sees that.” Varric nodded at the bloody tunic and torn hole in his pants. “I think you still have a few things stashed away at my place from the last time.” He smirked. It had not been the first time Carver had to hide his injuries from his family, and it probably wouldn't be the last.

“At least it's red right? In low light you can't even see the blood.” Anders offered helpfully and couldn't help but laugh when all three of them gave him a dirty unamused look. “Oh come on, you have your maps and no one... None of you died. At least that's something right?”

“We need to go.” Carver moved toward the door on wobbly legs, snatching up his sword as he headed out. Varric quickly moved to Carver's side and let the warrior rest his hand on his head, using him as a crutch as they left the clinic. It would have been comical at any other time, probably would be to those who they passed on the streets. It wasn't every day you saw a dwarf willingly let a human do such a thing.

“You guys go on ahead, I want to talk to Anders. It's been awhile since I heard from my warden friends.” She beamed as she stopped at the door.

“Sure Rivani, see you later.” Varric waved over his shoulder.

Isabela shut the door and drew the bolt. “So Anders.” She turned toward the mage who was no standing with his back toward her. She reached up and rested her hands on the hilts of her blades, eyes narrowing as she watched the warden closely. “I think we may have a problem.”

“Is that so.” Anders hands balled up against the hard surface of the table. He closed his eyes briefly trying to contain the annoyance at the woman's tone of voice.

“I know Warden Anders, and you are not him. You have about five seconds to start explaining what is going on.”

Anders skin crackled, his eyes flashing a bright blue as he turned his attention back toward the self proclaimed pirate queen.

..~~

Calenhad knocked lightly on the door, a sound far too quiet for anyone not standing directly on the other side to hear. Not that there was any real reason to knock in the first place. The doors were always open, inviting both friend and foe to enter the manor at their own peril, though so far no one besides the former would dare enter the place. Not with the reputation the place had developed over the years. First it was the stories of the Tevinter slavers there to abduct the elves, and trade gold for young mages with the corrupt Templars. Then came new rumors of something even more dangerous. A silent and deadly shadow that stalked the hallways, waiting and watching for anyone who would dare venture within twenty feet of the front door.

Calenhad pushed the door in as he took a deep breath and held it in for several heartbeats. He peeked around the door, and when Fenris' large sword did not come down to help his head introduce itself to the floor, he let out the breath and then wrinkled his nose. “Fenris?” He said softly as he stepped into the shadowed hall and closed the door behind him. The place was silent as usual, the only signs of life were the candles scattered sparsely around the house. Just enough to navigate the house without falling over the broken tiles and fallen beams. The place was a disaster just waiting to be condemned. The slavers hadn't bothered to keep up repairs, and the current resident couldn't care less either. It was a shame, he would have loved to see it before the Tevinters let it fall to ruin. “Fenris, are you home?” He called slightly louder as he headed deeper into the house toward the staircase.

The elf in question came to the banister, and looked down at Calenhad with a questioning, and slightly annoyed, glare. Calenhad was beginning to wonder if angry and annoyed was indeed Fenris' default facial expression, or if it was just a look he reserved for mages. Calenhad stopped on the stairs, locked in place by the elf's gaze, those eyes that always seemed to change with the light around them. Sunlight always made them a pale green, candle light a light brown. They were interesting, but brown or green it didn't matter, they bore through Calenhad like an icy blade.

“I uh,” Calenhad held up a basket he carried in his left hand. “My mother, she thought..” He shrugged his shoulder and then stood silently for a good thirty seconds before he started feeling unbearably uncomfortable. “I could leave it...” He started setting the basket on the stair.

“You may come up.” Fenris waved his hand and turned away.

Calenhad slowly scaled the stairs and entered the bedroom Fenris had claimed as his own. It was the only room in the house that wasn't covered in cobwebs and dust. It wasn't covered in much of anything really. The elf had cleared almost everything from the room sans the bed and a single armoire, replacing it with a large table and chairs, and two low standing benches he kept in front of the fire. It was an odd setup for a bedroom, but it made sense for someone who lived almost exclusively in a single room. Calenhad set the basket on the table and then stood awkwardly, swinging his arms back and forth at his sides.

Fenris hooked a finger in the basket and slid it towards himself. He dug through it, pulling out a few small loaves of bread, a large wedge of cheese, and a handkerchief wrapped around a big chunk of spiced meat cooked earlier that day. He grabbed the bottle of wine and held it up. “Your mother sent me this?”

“Oh, uh that...” Calenhad looked away embarrassed, his cheeks turning a slight crimson. “That... It's Ferelden. From Amaranthine. I found it in the market.” Calenhad gave a half smile as he scratched the back of his neck. “It's an apology for... the Qunari thing I guess.”

Fenris nodded and then gestured to one of the chairs. “You will sit and have a glass?” He offered.

“Uh, sure.” Calenhad dropped heavily in the chair and watched as Fenris retrieved two glasses from the fireplace mantle. 

“You know, I can afford to feed myself. I do not need you and your mother's help. This,” He waved the glasses at the basket as he took his seat. “Is unnecessary. Your brother shares his rewards fairly.”

Calenhad snorted softly as he scooted back in his chair. “I know. I think my mother knows too, but she seems to like you.” He shrugged and sighed quietly. “If I had to wager a guess why she shows you such kindness, it's because she wants to stay on your good side. No doubt she thinks we will eventually push you too far and you will turn us in.” He chuckled uncomfortably. It was a thought he himself had on a daily basis, about Fenris and Sebastian both. “Maybe help her and Uncle Gamlen stay out of the gallows when you do.”

“Your mother, she does not like mages. And yet she married one and birthed two more.” He pulled the cork from the bottle and filled the two glasses. “I am having trouble understanding this.”

“I think her biggest problem with magic... It's me. She thinks...” He stopped either unable to finish the sentence, or unwilling to finish it. “I am not sure when she started hating magic. If she every really liked it to begin with.” He swirled the red liquid around in the glass and watched as it coated the sides. “I also think she hasn't forgiven me for ruining her fantasy life with my father.” He said thoughtfully. “I was born, and they had to settle down. At least as much as an apostate can, I guess.”

“Does it hurt?”

Calenhad blinked as he looked over at Fenris with a rather confused look. It was one of the most personal questions the elf had asked him to date. A question most civilized people would never ask. He stared for a long moment at Fenris before he realized Fenris was looking at his jaw. The question had nothing to do with his feelings toward his mother's dislike. He inwardly laughed at himself as he touched his bruised jaw. “Not as much as it did yesterday. I will heal.”

Fenris nodded with something that almost looked like approval on his face. Probably aimed at the fact Calenhad hadn't jumped to magic to heal something so superficial. “I..” Fenris turned his gave away and looked at the glass in his own hand “ Apologize for striking you It was unworthy of me.”

Calenhad waved a hand dismissively. “It's ok. I've had worse.”

“And the Saarabas?”

“He is safe. Xenon took him in.” Calenhad said softly, knowing Fenris hated the idea of the place more then he hated mages. Fenris had been vocal about his distaste for an ancient and powerful being such as Xenon living beneath the city. It was not something the elf took lightly. He could see the annoyance and disgust crossing Fenris' face at the mere mention of the place and offered no more information about it. Places like that, Fenris had once; or dozens; said could only breed trouble. One day the city will learn this the hard way. Calenhad of course mostly ignored the elf's warnings. The city had levels on levels of 'learning this the hard way'. If the city hadn't learned it yet, it never would.

“How did you know I would be home?”

“I didn't. I thought you might still be with Carver.” Calenhad smiled slightly. He hadn't really thought about why Fenris was home until that very moment. But his curiosity was not nearly high enough to bother asking. If Fenris had abandoned the group, it probably meant Carver's job for Anders had to do with more mages, and that was not a jar of worms he wanted to open with the elf. “If I am disturbing you, I can...” He pointed toward the door.

“You may stay. I do enjoy the company now and again.” Calenhad could hear the even if it is a mage hanging on the end of that sentence. 

Fenris offered up little after that. He gave nothing up about himself, answering Calenhad's questions with the shortest answer possible, and asking very few questions of his own. It hadn't been at all how Calenhad expected his night to go, but it was enjoyable enough. There was something pleasant about sitting with the elf on occasion, at least on his end. Fenris was a bit of an oddity, even in their little group. Calenhad enjoyed trying to sort out the puzzle that was Fenris, even if it did come with the possibility of his head being liberated from his shoulders.


End file.
